


Squad Six is Jerks and other Stories

by polynya



Category: Bleach
Genre: Abarai-Kuchiki Family feels, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Birthday, F/M, Friendship, Gotei 13 | 13 Court Guard Squads - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Random & Short, Rukongai, Shinou Shinigami Academy, Shopping Malls, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, squad 11 - Freeform, squad 6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:40:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 45,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24861718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polynya/pseuds/polynya
Summary: A collection of short fiction (they're generally too long to be drabbles but too short to stand on their own), mostly arising from Tumblr Asks. Most of the chapters are rated Teen, but a few are conservatively marked M for raunchiness.Latest chapters: Tumblr AU Requests!33. Mad Scientist AU (Scientist Renji, Monster Rukia, and Byakuya paying the bills)34. IT Helpdesk/Scone Shortage AU (Professor Shunsui, IT Manager Nanao, Barista Juushirou)
Relationships: Abarai Ichika & Abarai Renji, Abarai Renji & Hinamori Momo, Abarai Renji & Iba Tetsuzaemon, Abarai Renji & Inoue Orihime, Abarai Renji & Kuchiki Byakuya, Abarai Renji & Kurosaki Ichigo, Abarai Renji/Hisagi Shuuhei, Abarai Renji/Kuchiki Rukia, Hisagi Shuuhei/Kira Izuru/Matsumoto Rangiku, Madarame Ikkaku & Abarai Renji
Comments: 97
Kudos: 103





	1. PacRim AU

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I write short, informal fiction for Tumblr blog, Squad Six is Jerks (recurring-polynya.tumblr.com), and here is an attempt to put them somewhere slightly more permanent. A lot of these came from prompts, and I have tried to credit the asker wherever possible. Many of these came out of a weekend when I was doing (allegedly) 500-word drabbles to celebrate making 500 followers, but you can send me asks anytime, although sometimes it takes me a while to answer them.
> 
> Table of Contents  
> 1\. PacRim AU (Renji, Ichigo, mentions of Rukia)  
> 2\. Family Planning (Renruki, M)  
> 3\. Space Dog Laika (Renji)  
> 4\. Straight to Bankai (Renji, Ikkaku)  
> 5\. The Big Squat (Rukia, Momo, Izuru, Renji, Academy-era)  
> 6\. Confession is Good for the Soul (Renruki)  
> 7\. Mall Goths and Other Undead Creatures (the lieutenants as teens, Izuru pining for Shuuhei)  
> 8\. Study Buddies (Rukia, Momo, Izuru, Renji, Academy-era)  
> 9\. Forgive me, they were delicious (Izuru/Rangiku/Shuuhei and Toushirou with his fingers in his ears, M)  
> 10\. Like Her Father Before Her (Ichika, Ikkaku, Yumichika)  
> 11\. Don't Drag Me Down (Isshin, Rangiku, Toushirou)  
> 12\. A Decision, Carefully Weighed (Ichika, Byakuya, ft. a terrible illustration)  
> 13\. Hisana House (Inuzuri, world-building)  
> 14\. Gourmands Abroad! Romantic Tales of Flavor and Adventure (Rose, Izuru)  
> 15\. A Needle in a Haystack (Rukia, Renji, memories of Hisana)  
> 16\. Hot Goss (Renruki, SWA, M)  
> 17\. Boyfriends (pre-canon Renji/Shuuhei)  
> 18\. The Special Assignment (Squad 11)  
> 19\. Paternity Leave (Squad 6, Ichika)  
> 20\. Terrible Insults, Free of Charge (Academy era Renji, Momo)  
> 21\. Many Happy Returns (Squad 11 & friends, Abarai family)  
> 22\. Discretion and Propriety (Renruki and friends)  
> 23\. locking eyes, holding hands (twin high maintenance machines) (Orihime writes a fanfic, ft. Byakuya on sound effects)  
> 24\. Heavy Objects (Renji, Iba, Squad 11)  
> 25\. Five o' Clock Can't Come Soon Enough (RenRuki, Byakuya)  
> 26\. Doing Our Best (RenRuki, angst)  
> 27\. Himbo Moving Services (Izuru & Renji & Shuuheii ft. Unohana and Kotetsu)  
> 28\. Summer Casual for the Fashionable Meathead (Renji, Iba, Squad 11)  
> 29\. The Fear You Have Been Avoiding (Rukia vs As Nodt, dark)  
> 30\. A Few Words of Brotherly Wisdom (Rukia, Byakuya, Renji)  
> 31\. Never Trust a Poet (Byakuya, Renji, notes of Rukia)  
> 32\. The Thrill of the Thrift (Orihime, Renji, Rukia)  
> 33\. Mad Scientist AU (Scientist Renji, Monster Rukia, and Byakuya paying the bills)  
> 34\. IT Helpdesk/Scone Shortage AU (Professor Shunsui, IT Manager Nanao, Barista Juushirou)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two boys steal a robot in order to go save their best girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
> **Prompt from some galaxy-brained Anon:**  
>  _
> 
> RenRuki Pacific Rim AU. Renji is torn up inside because he and Rukia used to be drift compatible when they were younger until ~something~ happened, and now she's fighting monsters and is drift compatible with this new orange haired kid she met like 10 mins ago. Rukia's in danger, Renji and Ichigo have to go and save her in their giant robot (and because they only have Save Rukia on their minds, miraculously, they can do it). Rukia and Renji talks things out, they kick ass in a giant robot. END.

“Ho-leeeee smokes,” Ichigo breathed, staring up at the gleaming Jaeger. “She’s gorgeous.” The Jaeger was pure white, accented with a scattering of pink cherry blossoms. This was no scrapper like Snow Rabbit, she was shining and elegant, absolutely _oozing_ power. 

Renji pushed past him in order to boot up another control panel. “She better be. That’s Sakura 1000, the finest (not to mention most expensive) Jaeger ever built. She belongs to Captain Kuchiki.

Ichigo let out a low whistle. “When you said you could get us a ride, you weren’t kidding. Cripes, Byakuya can pilot? Who the hell is drift compatible with that old bag of wind in a fancy suit?”

Renji shot him a steely glance. “Captain Kuchiki is the most gifted pilot this Shatterdome has ever seen. Story goes, only one person’s ever been naturally drift compatible with him. With enough training, enough years studying his moves, a person can learn to co-pilot with him. It’s not true drift compatibility, it’s more like… supporting him. He carries most of the neural load himself. He’s amazing.”

“Don’t know who would sign up for _that_ bullshit job,” Ichigo announced, watching Renji type access codes into a terminal. “Hey, how do you know all those…” As he looked back at his reluctant ally, Ichigo noticed for the first time that Renji’s Drivesuit was white, splashed with pink flower petals. “Ohhhhhhhh shit. Uh, sorry, man.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Renji grumbled. “It _is_ a bullshit job. Come on.” Sakura 1000’s Conn-Pod slid open with a blast of steam and a loud hiss. 

“You think we’re really gonna be able to pilot ol’ Hatchetface’s personal Jaeger?” Ichigo asked, chasing Renji up the ramp.

“Nope,” Renji replied. “But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna sit back while Aizen tries to use Rukia to open a new breach.” 

“Now, that’s funny,” Ichigo grinned, “because it seems like we’re on exactly the same wavelength.” He paused from trying to buckle his feet into the straps. “Hey, when Rukia and I get in Snow Rabbit, the head is detached and then it goes down a big chute thing and–”

“Yeah, Sakura 1000’s Conn-Pod is in the torso. She doesn’t have escape hatches.” Renji yanked his helmet down over his ponytail. “If she goes down, so do we.”

“Coooool,” said Ichigo. “Cool cool cool cool cool.”

“Look, you ready to get this show on the road, kid?”

“Let me get my helmet on!”

Renji took a deep breath, his nose filling with relay gel. This was insanity. Fourteen years of training, of studying, of getting his brain waves to align with a man who was the epitome of self-control. And now, here he was, stealing Captain Kuchiki’s finicky baby with this… this human tornado, this chaos-that-walked-like-a-teen that Rukia had just… _picked up_ somewhere. This was never going to work. This was going to fail and it was going to set off a thousand alarms and then they were going to _jail forever_ while Rukia– 

“Ready!”

Banishing those negative thoughts, Renji hit the ignition sequence, and felt the spinal clamp lock into place. 

“Beginning synchronization sequence,” Sakura 1000’s auto-monitoring system announced.

“Hey, does her voice sound a little like Rukia’s?” Ichigo asked.

“Little,” Renji managed. It was the voice of Captain Kuchiki’s dead partner, actually, but Renji had always found it eerily close to his former best friends’. “What do you wanna think about?” he asked. “Something we can both get on board with.”

“Pilotin’ with Rukia, obviously.”

Renji glanced at his co-pilot out of the corner of his eye, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

_Dark violet eyes, sparkling with violence._

_“You ready to go kick some ugly monster ass, Big Guy?”_

_Leaping off a cliff into a boiling sea where their comrades were in desperate need of a rescue, their Jaeger’s cape fluttering around them. (Why did a giant mech even have a cape?)_

_Beating a kaiju over the head with the melted ruin of their Plasmacaster, screaming in unison, screaming not because they were scared, but screaming because they were_ alive.

“Neural handshake complete,” the auto-monitoring system declared. “Drift connection established. Preparing for launch.”

“What th’fuck?” Renji sputtered.

“Let’s go save Rukia,” Ichigo growled. Renji could feel his upper lip curling into a determined grin, echoing the teen’s own facial expression.

“Yeah,” Renji agreed. “Let’s go save Rukia.”


	2. Family Planning (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rukia and Renji talk about babies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, when I don’t feel like writing the things I am supposed to be working on, I have a document worth of drabbley post-TYBWA stuff where I’m working out how Renji and Rukia actually manage to get family-approval for their relationship and subsequently get married. It’s pretty rough and I never finish any of the parts.
> 
> In any case, sillier-things (both on Tumblr and AO3) mentioned recently that she liked stories about making babies and I told her I would write her a drabble, so I wrote a little story about family planning, because I am a thirty-eight year old, deeply boring woman, and because I _need_ , in my heart, for Ichika to have been extremely planned.
> 
> So, I wrote this, mostly for me, and I hope you like it, too. If you don’t, I’ll just write you another one. Takes place in the late fall, between the TYBWA and their wedding, they are _betrothed_. (Renji likes to pronounce “betrothed” with three syllables and in his Byakuya voice). PG for some raunchy sex talk.
> 
> Some background from the other parts that maybe I’ll finish someday?:
> 
> \- Renji beat Byakuya in a fight and then turned in his paperwork for dating Rukia
> 
> \- Byakuya was will to let Renji marry into the Kuchiki family, but Renji realized that Rukia would be happier living a more independent life, and asked Byakuya if she could marry out of the family instead. Byakuya refused to let her marry a nobody, so he did what anyone would: named Renji his vassal.
> 
> \- Renji somehow managed to buy a house that his 4th Seat won in a poker game off some other noble idiot (I wrote this part once when I got really nostalgic about their house from Between Tides, I _told_ you I was a deeply boring person)
> 
> \- Byakuya is not as recovered from his fight with As Nodt as everyone thinks he is. (Renji and Rukia know, tho)

Rukia sat on a tall bar stool, while Renji stuffed gyoza on the other side of the kitchen island. She was going down a long checklist. “Last one!”

“Surely not!”

“Surely yes! Do you want to use the good silver chopsticks?”

“The ones that are slippery as hell? _No._ ”

“You’re getting pretty good at them,” Rukia said, propping one elbow up on the counter.

“I’m not worried about me. We get to invite our friends to this thing, too, right? In addition to all 900 of your relatives?”

“They’re your relatives now, too, Mr. Branch Family Head,” Rukia reminded him. “Whether you marry me or not. And yes, we can invite our friends to _this thing_ , or as I like to call it, _our wedding_.”

Renji plopped another dumpling onto his tray. “Well, I don’t want Ikkaku to shove a metal chopstick in my ear on my wedding day, so can we please use normal ones? Is that allowed?”

“We can use the second most fancy chopsticks, I still wouldn’t categorize them as ‘normal.’”

“So, is that it? You’re really out of questions?”

“I’m out of wedding-related questions. You still haven’t told me why you’re making enough gyoza to feed your entire squad.”

“Because it’s easier to make them in big batches, they freeze really well.”

Rukia waved an arm at the room behind her, which was mostly full of boxes. “You don’t have anything better to do? You moved in three weeks ago, have you unpacked _anything_?”

“I unpacked the kitchen stuff, _obviously_. And you’re here. I know how you like it when I wear this apron.”

Rukia folded her arms on the counter and rested her chin on them. “Renji. You’re still sleeping in the barracks, aren’t you?”

Renji stared deeply into his bowl of pork and cabbage. It was much more forgiving than his fiancee. “This house is really big. It gets lonely at night. I still don’t see why I had to move in first.”

“How am I supposed to marry into your family if your family doesn’t even have a house? What sort of poor excuse for a noble are you anyway?” Rukia teased him.

“The worst,” Renji agreed cheerfully.

Rukia’s smile wavered a little. “It’s not too big, is it? For just two people?”

“It’ll be perfect when you’re here, I promise. If it’s still too big, we’ll get that bunny you’ve always wanted.“ 

Renji expected some shouting on the topic of bunnies, but instead, Rukia was quiet. He looked up from his dumplings to see her chewing on her bottom lip pensively. "Renji? Can I ask you something?” she asked as his eyes met hers.

“Nope!” he replied. “You said you were done! You blew your wad on centerpieces and great-uncles!”

She gave him a withering stare.

“Of course you can ask me anything, dummy,” he chided her.

Rukia sat up and leaned back as far as she could without falling off her stool. “Do you wanna have kids?”

Renji blinked. “Well…” he said slowly. 

Rukia waited.

“To be honest, I’ve spent a lot of time on my figure. I’m worried you wouldn’t find me attractive anymore if I couldn’t lose the weight afterwards–”

“Oh, _shut up_ , you are the _worst_!” Rukia looked around for something she could throw at him, but the best thing she could come up with was a dish towel, which he ducked easily. “I’m being serious, here!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he chuckled, not sounding very sorry. “Do _you_ want to have kids?”

“No! No dodging! I asked you first!”

They stared at each other, eyes narrowed.

“What if we said it at the same time?” Renji suggested.

“That seems like a terrible idea, but it is fair. Let’s do it.”

“Okay, on three, then. One…”

“Two…”

“Three!”

“Yes,” said Rukia at the same time as Renji said, “I do, but I feel it puts an unfair burden on you and I know being a good leader to your squad is something you take very seriously and I won’t feel like anything is missing from– did you just say ‘yes’?”

“I knew you hadn’t thought this through properly,” Rukia muttered.

He threw a piece of wadded up dough at her head. She caught it.

“You moron!” she scolded. “You’re the head of a family, now! What kind of a dick do you think I am, that I would agree to marry you with no intention of bearing you an heir!”

Renji’s face split into a lopsided grin. “First of all, if you say the phrase 'bearing me an heir’ again, I am going to be so overcome with passion that I will be unable to wait until our marital vows, and I’ll have my way with you right here and now.”

Rukia rolled her eyes. As if he gave half a shit about wedding vows. As if they hadn’t done it already once today within five minutes of her walking in the door.

“Secondly, who the hell else would I marry? I’ve already incorporated Sode no Shirayuki’s tsuba into my family crest.” He shoved up his sleeve for emphasis, as if she had somehow forgotten what it looked like, the segmented oval of her released sword’s guard, bisected by a lightning bolt. She couldn’t believe he’d gotten it tattooed on the inside of his forearm on the same day Byakuya declared him a one-man vassal family. She also couldn’t believe he wouldn’t let her get a matching one until they were actually married. Apparently Seireitei tattoo artists were very serious about not doing clan symbols without permission. At least he was finally willing to wear long sleeves again, now that it was November. 

“That’s your problem,” she informed him.

“My favorite problem,” he announced. “The branch family thing is nice, I guess, but mostly I just care about being married to you. You don’t need to feel obligated to–”

Rukia threw the dough ball back at his head. It hit him square in the forehead and bounced off. “Look, you lunkhead. I don’t know if I would be any good at being a mom, but it’s just stupidly obvious how good a dad you would be, not to mention how hot you would be in one of those baby sling things. Don’t you dare try to deny it, as you stand there in your dumb apron, making your _freezer meals_.”

His cheeks had gone a little pink. “All I was gonna say is that I think you would be a pretty awesome mom. You can skateboard. I can’t skateboard. You… you really want to?”

Rukia shrugged, a little defensively. “We had a pretty shitty childhood, y’know, but we all took care of each other. We did okay. We were happy. I feel like… like it would be nice to actually take care of someone. Give them food and hugs and tell them stories and all the stuff no one ever did for us. That I would like to do that with you.”

Renji was regarding her strangely.

“What?” Rukia huffed.

“I just really like you, y’know,” he said softly. 

Now Rukia was the one with pink cheeks. “Also, I just feel like I could make a really good baby,” she proclaimed. “Especially with your help. Imagine a kid with my brains and aesthetic and your height and abs.”

“You do realize we’re just as likely to get an angry shorty with my hair and your stubbornness,” Renji informed her dryly. “Not to mention a foul mouth because there’s no way we’re gonna remember to watch our language around them.”

“Sounds perfect to me, either way,” Rukia replied.

Renji grinned and continued on with his dumpling stuffing. “All right, Kuchiki. I’m game if you are.”

“I am,” Rukia confirmed. “When do you want to start?”

Renji guffawed. “You do not mess around, do you? My hands are covered in ground meat at the moment–”

“Be serious! Besides, I already cast the all-purpose protection kidou on you today and I’m very good at it, so it’ll probably last a full eight hours.”

Renji shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You be serious. Wouldn’t you rather wait until you get a new captain in place?”

Rukia stuck her lower lip out. “Uhhh, there’s something I should probably tell you.”

Renji looked up, regarding her under lowered eyelids. “Yesssss?”

Rukia made a squirmy face. “The Head-Captain talked to me the other day. He, uh, said that with all the losses overall, and the fact that there aren’t really any good candidates, he wants to keep the 13th small for the next couple of years and let me, um, growintothecaptaincy.”

Renji raised one eyebrow at her, looking very proud, but not saying anything.

“He wants to do the same with the Seventh,” Rukia quickly excused. “And he’s going to talk to Captain Hitsugaya about mentoring me, both as a captain and with my bankai. That’s the real issue, y'know, that with a bankai like that, I should really know what I’m doing before I have any business captaining a squad.”

“I hear you,” Renji agreed.

Rukia narrowed her eyes at him. “Is that what you told Captain Kyouraku when he asked you to take the Seventh? He said you turned him down.”

Renji winced.

“Because you told me,” Rukia went on loftily, “ that Souou Zabimaru was much easier to maneuver than Hihiou Zabimaru.”

“Something about how I still had a lot to learn from Captain Kuchiki,” Renji grumbled. “Besides, the Seventh is Iba’s squad. He’s not that far from bankai. I even told Kyouraku I’d help him train for it.”

“It might be awhile before you get another chance,” Rukia pointed out softly.

Renji was stuffing dumplings very aggressively now. “Your brother needs me right now, you know that, even if I wasn’t gettin’ married to the most demanding woman in Soul Society next month. I don’t care that much about making captain. I care a lot about my family.”

Byakuya’s battle with As Nodt had very nearly killed him. At the time, Captain Unohana had predicted that, even if he lived, he would never hold a sword again. He had proved her wrong, of course, trained in the Royal Realm, taken up his haori again. But he wasn’t the same. HIs power was greatly reduced, his endurance as well. He could no longer reach the advanced stages of his bankai. 

Captain Kuchiki was one of the most powerful captains in the Gotei. It would take a strong opponent indeed to press him hard enough to even notice these changes. But Byakuya knew. And his lieutenant, who had finally bested him in battle, knew, too.

Byakuya’s previous strength might still return. It might simply take time. Having an eager young vice-captain– powerful enough to pass the captain’s exam, but lacking the experience, made a convenient cover for delegating combat and other physically taxing duties. Especially now that Byakuya had acknowledged Renji as a protege of sorts, head of a Kuchiki branch family, and promised Byakuya’s own beloved sister, it appeared outwardly that it was the captain supporting his vice-captain, rather than the other way around.

Rukia smiled fondly at the vice-captain in question. “I like you a lot, too, y'know.” She paused thoughtfully. “I don’t have to be a captain, either. It is a lot. I can tell Kyouraku to find someone else.”

“Tch!” Renji huffed. “ _Someone_ ’s gotta bring glory to our family name. Makes more sense for it to be you, I’m the better cook.” He finished up the last of his dumplings, and put the bowl in the sink. “Although I suppose that puts a wrinkle in that thing we were talking about a minute ago.”

Rukia sniffed. “I don’t see why. We’ll make one right away, I’ll tell the Head Captain I need a year, and then I’ll get down to business after that. You can use the baby as an excuse to stave off any further attempts at promotion. And if Brother keeps trying to overdo it, we can plunk the baby in his lap.”

“Brilliant plan,” Renji assessed. “Zero foreseeable flaws. How many of these d’you think you can eat with dinner? I’m gonna freeze the rest.”

“One thousand,” Rukia proclaimed.

Renji rolled his eyes as he slid a tray into the freezer. “I have no idea how I am going to keep you fed, assuming I actually manage to knock you up.”

“I believe in you,” Rukia assured him. “On both counts.” She watched him as he continued to clean up. “You’re really on board with all this? You were probably looking forward to a few years of me bending you over the kitchen table as soon as we got home, not late night feedings and dirty diapers, huh?”

Renji finished drying his hands, and he reached over the counter to tip Rukia’s chin up with one finger. “Rukia. As much as I love having rauchy sex in inappropriate places with you– and you know that I do– the thing I’ve been waiting forty-six years for is to be a family, whether that means just the two of us, or us plus however many babies you demand I put in you. I’ve had enough waiting for one afterlife, to be honest.”

“How did you come up with 46?” Rukia frowned. “Forty-six years ago, we were still back in–”

“Don’t do the math,” he implored.

“Okay,” she agreed, smiling at him.

“We’re not gonna start trying before the wedding, though, right?” Renji asked, pulling off his apron. “I’m pretty bad at math, but your brother’s not.”

“I suppose not,” Rukia agreed.

“Then we should squeeze in as much lazy daytime sex as possible while we still can!”

Rukia shrieked gleefully as he ducked around the kitchen island and pulled her off her barstool. 

This was going to work out just fine.


	3. Space Dog Laika

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An elegy for a Good Girl who died in the name of science

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **Prompt from Tumblr user serene-faerie**_ (TheEigthPillarGeneral on AO3), who also wrote [an expansion of this drabble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23669095)):
> 
> Imagine Renji discovering the story of Laika the space dog, getting so sad when he learns about her origins and her fate, and him just getting so emotional about her because he can relate to her so much, and it inevitably leads to an awkward moment when Byakuya comes into the office to discover a rather emotional Renji on the verge of tears, which leads him to have to explain everything and get emotional all over again... sorry, I got hit with feels recently and I needed to share it 😭

It’s worse than you think.

Bleach starts in the spring of 2001, which puts late 1957 as 43 and a half years prior.

Most of Soul Society has very little contact with the World of the Living, the outskirts of Rukongai least of all, but the Soul Reapers get to make visits, and they bring home stories about amazing things happening there. It is the International Geophysical Year. Japan has established Showa Station in Antarctica. Americans are using ships that were once used for war to map ridges on the bottom of the ocean. The Soviets put a satellite into orbit.

Students at the Shin’oureijutsuin only get to go for short jaunts to the Living World for training exercises, but many of them have older siblings or former classmates who are now in the Gotei, and stories swirl around the academy.

Abarai Renji isn’t having a great year. Abarai Renji may never have a good year again. He’s got his nose to the grindstone, he’s working his ass off, but even he will slow down from shoveling rice into his face when someone in the mess hall tells a story they heard from someone’s cousin’s sister about radiation belts hugging the Earth like a jacket.

And then. It is November 1957. The head guy of the Russians (Renji can never keep straight all the words humans have for their political leaders) wants something “spectacular.” And this rich, self-important bastard has his engineers grab a stray dog off the streets of Moscow. Mongrels are tough, you see, used to cold and thirst and hunger. She weighs 5kg. They stuff her in a rocket and shoot her toward the stars and there, far from all she has ever known, she dies.

What happens when you die in space? The sun and moon are there, of course, but raw and bright, unsoftened by Earth’s atmosphere. There are no flowers or trees, no oceans or mountains, and most importantly, no one you love. How could a soul possibly find their way back home? Even with an excellent nose, all scent trails are lost in a vacuum. Later, humans would die in space, but they were adventurers who chose their path, most with their comrades close at hand, dying the deaths of heroes.

Over the years, Renji writes many angry letters to his Slavic counterparts. The grim reapers across the stinking Smorodina River have a reputation for being extra grim, and he never receives a reply. What would they say, in any case? It’s nearly impossible to find a human soul in Soul Society, and Nav is many, many times bigger. How could they possibly come across one little mutt? But Renji has a bit of a habit of chasing lost causes.

It is 2002. Things are different now, in many, many ways. Renji has found that things that are sent into orbit come back around eventually. And then, one day, he brings a newspaper back from the World of the Living. After decades of conflicting accounts, a Russian scientist has admitted that Laika was not euthanized. She died from overheating. The scientist deeply regretted what he had done.

“What do you expect?” Renji’s captain sniffs. “Humans are cruel and careless with everything they see as less than themselves.”

Renji is obviously still fired up when booze o’ clock rolls around. Izuru rolls his eyes. Rukia drinks in double-time. Matsumoto takes a very long trip to the restroom. Everyone has heard Renji on his Laika bullshit before, and they sigh and put up with it, because to do otherwise would be to deny that Renji’s big stupid heart and anger at injustice are the very reasons he is the core of their friend group, perhaps even the core of the Gotei. Behind his sunglasses, Iba’s expression is inscrutable.

Two weeks later, the Captain of the Seventh calls Renji into his office. “Did you know,” Komamura says slowly, “that there are werewolf tribes in the Nav, as well?” Some become werewolves by sin or by curse, but in many cases, it is a consuming anger that causes the soul to take a canine turn upon death. Or, in some cases, a more human turn. “We have some channels of communication via common relatives in the Beast Realms,” Komamura explains. “I have heard tell of a Pack Leader, small and very young– not even as old as yourself, but very, very fierce. It is not true that werewolves can cause eclipses by swallowing the moon, but it is said that among all wolves, she has come the closest.”

Renji swallows. “D’you think…” he asks slowly. “If I wrote her a letter, you could get it to her?”


	4. Straight to Bankai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji is very excited about his giant skeletal snake. Ikkaku is less so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hit 500 followers on Tumblr, and on a whim, announced I would write 500 word drabbles for anyone who asked. My first taker was tanakaseiron, who asked for some ikkaku/renji banter or headcanons, so I wrote a little bit about Renji showing off his new bankai immediately after the Soul Society Arc. 

“So have you thought about if you’re gonna be one of those ‘straight-to-bankai’ guys, or a slow roller?” Ikkaku asked as he hopped the fence to Training Field #3.

“Oh, straight to bankai,” Abarai replied as he followed. “Right away. Gonna show up to fights in bankai, if possible.”

“That’s probably the right choice for you. You get beat up a lot. Okay. Go ahead. I’m ready.”

Renji wrinkled up his face for a moment, and drew his sword. He rolled out his shoulders and, with a flick of his wrist, released into shikai. He raised his eyebrows. “Eh? Nice, huh? Right?”

“Yeah, no release command, great. Get to the good part,” Ikkaku replied boredly, investigating the contents of his ear with one finger.

“You gotta back up a little bit. It’s kinda big.”

Ikkaku glowered at him and took a step backwards.

“Like three more steps.”

Ikkaku sighed heavily, and took three bored steps backward. He thought he had done a better job teaching Abarai to be cool about stuff, but every time the kid managed to do anything decent, he turned into a big, fucking puppy about it. Or maybe it was just around him. Ikkaku decided not to interrogate that too deeply.

“Bannnnn- _KAI!”_

Ikkaku had to take a jump backwards to avoid a massive coil of bony snake. “Fucking sweet!” he exclaimed.

_“I know, right?!”_ Abarai crowed. “Listen to this!”

Ikkaku’s field of view suddenly filled with a lot of fangs and glowing eyes. The skeletal jaws opened wide and a brain-jarring _SKCHREEEEEEEEEEEECCCCCHHHHH!!_ filled all his senses. If Ikkaku had any hair, it would have been blown back. Fortunately, the thing did not have _breath_ , although knowing Abarai, if his bankai had breath, it would just smell like cookies, or some shit.

“What good does that do?” he shouted back, hitting one of his ears with the palm of his hand, trying to get his hearing to come back. 

Abarai’s mouth was moving, but Ikkaku couldn’t hear him over the persistent ringing. Oh, well, the kid sure could blather. “–mmmph mmblle defense!”

“Mmm, sure,” Ikkaku agreed, pretending like he’d paid any attention to that. “What the fuck are you wearing? Yumichika is gonna piss a brick when he sees that thing.”

“It’s a _stole!”_ Renji frowned defensively. “Look, it’s got a baboon skull on it!”

“Why the hell do you have a baboon skull? Your bankai’s a fucking snake.”

“It’s actually a nue. A baboon snake.”

“Sounds like some nerd shit to me. So, are you gonna let me fight that thing?”

“Yeah yeah yeah! I thought maybe you could go to bankai and we could have a bankai-to-bankai fight!”

“No.”

Renji’s face fell. “No?”

“You know I don’t have bankai.”

Renji scowled. “Madarame, I’ve _seen_ it.”

“Someone probably hit you on the head too many times and you dreamed it.”

“Come _on,_ what better thing have you got to do with that three tons of hot mess than fight my bitchin’ snake guy? And Captain Kuchiki says it’s gonna take a lot of training before it’s ready to use in battle. Who better–? I mean, I thought, maybe–”

Ikkaku sucked his teeth and scratched his ass. “I told you, kid, I’m done with you. I don’t want people thinking you fight like me. Besides, for fuck’s sake, you outrank me. You should start acting like it.”

“That’s _bullshit!”_ Renji protested. “You’re just worried that if you keep training me, I’ll figure out how to beat you.”

Ikkaku snorted. “Is that how it works? A guy offers to do something nice like training you, and you spend the whole time trying to reverse engineer his whole fucking deal and figure out how to beat him?”

Renji made a face. “Well…”

“You aren’t even in my squad anymore, junior. Kuchiki thinks you need training, go tell him to train you himself. You’re his problem now.”

“That would be– I mean, if he would– wait!” Realization started to dawn over Renji’s face. “Wait, are you suggesting–?”

Ikkaku drew his sword and shook it out into its polearm form. _“Fuck_ , you talk a lot. First one with a concussion buys drinks.”

“You’re on!” Renji agreed with a grin.


	5. The Big Squat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All those Leg Days finally pay off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **From sensible-spice:** _Congrats on 500 followers! Could you write a little something about Renji squatting 500 pounds and Rukia being utterly unimpressed by it (but secretly super impressed/horny)?_
> 
> What even is 500 words? It is unknowable. ::puts on sunglasses:: I have suddenly forgotten how to do a word count. In any case, I cannot see how I could possibly be expected to keep to 500 words on this amazing prompt, which features both Renji lifting and Rukia being angrily horny, two of my very favorite things.
> 
> Oh, I hope you don’t mind, I set it during Academy times, for peak unimpressed Rukia energy.

Rukia yawned as she ambled out of the lecture hall. “Foundations of Soul Society” was so boring. Who cared about nobles and all their dumb laws? She just wanted to get to the part about killing Hollows.

“Inuzuri-san! Inuzurii-san!”

Rukia frowned. A girl was calling her name. Her sort-of name. Who the hell would want to talk to her?

The group of tall boys in front of her turned right, and she saw a dark haired girl with pigtails waving frantically to her. Shit. That was one of Renji’s new friends, wasn’t it? From the Advanced Class? “Uh, hi, Hina…san? It is Hina, right?”

“Hinamori!” the girl chirped. “Are you busy, Inuzuri-san? Abarai-kun sent me to come fetch you, can you come? It’s, uh, urgent. He says it’s urgent.”

“Is blood coming out of him?” Rukia asked dryly.

“Um…” Hinamori looked thoughtful. “Not yet? Please come, Inuzuri-san!”

“Fine, fine,” Rukia agreed with a wave of her hand. “And it’s Rukia, please. No one wants to be called Inuzuri-san.”

“Er, okay,” Hinamori agreed reluctantly.

Hinamori led her across campus at a nervous trot. Rukia maintained a leisurely pace, and the other girl had to keep doubling back to avoid leaving her behind. 

It was the gym. They were going to the gym. She should have known. Renji’s other friend, the blond boy from the rich family was standing outside the entrance, but he ducked inside as soon as he saw the girls approaching. Absolutely no good could possibly come of this.

“Arright, he’s ready! He’s gonna do it!” someone yelled as they walked in. 

The gym was a little more crowded than usual, and everyone seemed to be clustered around one of the rear weight racks. Most of the onlookers were bigger than Rukia and Hinamori put together. Hinamori tried to thread her way around with a gentle murmuring of “Pardon!” and “Excuse us!” No one seemed to mind letting her through, since she clearly wasn’t going to obscure anyone’s view.

Rukia just used her elbows. 

Suddenly, she popped out in front of the crowd. 

Renji was settling his shoulders under a bar loaded with what was clearly supposed to be some sort of impressive load. He had a bandana tied around his forehead. Rukia couldn’t decide if it looked more or less stupid than the stupid eyebrow tattoos it partially obscured. 

“Oh, my goodness, he had his shirt on when I left,” Hinamori gasped, having emerged from the press of spectators next to Rukia.

Rukia had gathered that it was considered uncouth up here in civilization for a lady to see a gentleman without his shirt on, but Renji was no gentleman, and it’s not like he had anything underneath his kosode she hadn’t seen a million times before.

Renji was curling and uncurling his fingers around the bar. An upperclassman with scars on his face seemed to be whispering some kind of pep talk into his ear. Renji’s eyes suddenly spotted Rukia, and his face cracked into an utterly stupid grin. “Here I go!” he roared. 

With a grunt, he straightened up, the muscles of his shoulders and arms standing out in clear relief under the massive load. The bar looked like it was bending under all the weight. Renji took two solid steps backward, and expertly bent at his knees. He was grimacing terribly, Rukia couldn’t stand to look at his stupid face.

Oh, no, it was a mistake, she was looking at his chest now. It wasn’t the same chest he’d had six months ago. No, she definitely would have noticed… all that. The muscles of his stomach, in particular, stood out crisply. She could practically count them, if she wanted to. There was sweat running down between them. Rukia’s eyes darted over to Hinamori, whose cheeks were scarlet. 

“Look at that form, can you believe he’s a first-year?” the enormous meathead next to her murmured to his muscle-bound neighbor. 

Smoothly, Renji rose back up to standing, and breathing deeply through his nose, stepped forward and set the weight back on the rack.

“Five HUNDRED pounds!” the upperclassman roared. “No reiatsu! Pure glutes! My man!”

Renji threw his hands in the air and made a loud whooping sound. His fellow gym rats went wild, slapping him on the back and shouting incomprehensible, beefy things at him.

“That was it?” Rukia asked Hinamori dryly. “That was the big urgent thing?”

“Well, I thought it was impressive,” Hinamori stammered. “He’s been working very hard toward it.”

The blond, Kira, Rukia suddenly remembered, materialized next to Hinamori. “How long do you think we’ll be hearing about this for?”

“Just long enough for him to set his sights on six hundred,” Rukia deadpanned.

“Ah, hello there, Inuzuri-san. Abarai will be pleased you were able to make it.”

Rukia wasn’t exactly sure what to say to that. Did his fancy new chums really think she wouldn’t turn up for his dumb stunts? Maybe rich people had a different idea of friendship than she did.

“Hey! _Hey!”_

Rukia slowly turned her face up to see the man of the hour, sweating and red-face, grinning at her like his face was about to fall off. “Rukia, did you see?”

“I saw,” she replied coolly. 

“It was amazing, Abarai-kun!” Hinomori broke in, her voice glowing with admiration. 

“Nice work,” Kira added. “You should be very proud of yourself.”

Renji wasn’t looking at them, though. His smile was beginning to crack a bit around the edges. Rukia finally relented. “Renji, you spend half your waking hours in this smelly gym. Only 500? What are you doing with yourself? I should think you would be up to at least 800 by now.”

“That’s a ridiculous number, Rukia,” he informed her, his eye starting to twitch.

“So? You’re ridiculous. I expect ridiculous things of you.” She tilted her head and gave him an indulgent look. “Do you have more slabs of metal to heave around or are you ready to get cleaned up for dinner? I’m starving, but I’m not going anywhere with you smelling like you just splatted 500 pounds.”

Hinamori and Kira looked downright horrified, but Renji’s expression softened. “It’s called a squat, Rukia. And sure. I’ll be right there.”


	6. Confession is Good For the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji decides to finally tell Rukia how he feels about her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **monicane79:** _Hi big fan! I was wondering if you will do a RenRuki fanfic leading up to Ichigo fullbring arc? Congrats on 500🎉_
> 
> I _am_ eventually going to do a pre-Fullbringer chapter of Heart is a Muscle, the main purpose of which is to explain why Renji is such a dingdong in that arc. It’s going to be more than 500 words, but here’s 624 words that pretty much get the main idea across.

Renji was supposed to be figuring out how many Academy recruits the Sixth would be able to accept this summer, but he kept finding himself just staring out the window instead. The weather was gorgeous; he hoped it would hold through the weekend. He wondered if it was sunny in Karakura.

Renji snorted. What a dumbass he was. Idly, he remembered a May two years previous, waiting for Rukia to come home from the Living World, his decision made, the _thing_ he had to tell her burning a hole in his gut. If he recalled correctly, it had rained the whole damn month.

This time was different. Rukia was only going to be gone for a day or two, and she was a _Vice-Captain_ now, one of the strongest and most capable people he knew. He could probably trust her not to transfer her shinigami powers to a random human and almost end up getting executed. Probably.

Renji snorted as he recollected his idiotic fantasies of two years previous– had he honestly expected her to be _impressed_ by him stomping up to her and announcing his new rank, like some sort of challenge? He was planning on taking a slightly different tack this time. Rukia, he was gonna say to her, Rukia, you are my favorite person in the world. I haven’t told you this because I didn’t want to screw up your life, I didn’t want to make you choose between me and your brother, but I think our lives fit together pretty well these days. There’s no wars on, we haven’t had to desert lately, we’re the same rank, and the other day, your brother even told me he counts on me. So I think it might be a good time to try something new. I want to be with you. I want to hold hands with you and say how beautiful I think you are out loud instead of in my head, and I want to kiss you without having to get drunk first so we can pretend like it was an accident. Maybe you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay, but I wanted to tell you, at least once in my life, that I love you.

And then it would be up to her.

Renji looked idly down at his Staff Requisition form. He had drawn _fucking bunnies_ all over it. The bunny on the left was small and smart and beautiful and brave. The bunny on the right was big and stupid and wearing a pair of sunglasses and a bandana. The bunny on the right was the luckiest bunny in all of Soul Society. The form was ruined anyway. Renji drew a big heart around his bunnies.

Suddenly, there was an urgent rap on the door. Without waiting for a reply, the shoji was flung open.

Renji sat up suddenly, knocking over his cup of tea in the process. “Hrmmh? What? Who? Rukia!”

“BROTHER! RENJI!” Rukia paused when she took in his gobsmacked face, the tea soaking into his sleeve. “Are you okay?”

“I’m FINE!” Renji announced. He glanced down at the mess of his desk, and in a brilliant move, used one arm to sweep everything directly into his waste bin. “Captain’s out, he’ll be back in an hour. You’re back early! I didn’t feel you. Why didn’t I feel you? Are _you_ okay?”

“I’m great!” Rukia announced, waving a sword in the air that was most definitely not Sode no Shirayuki. “You probably couldn’t feel me because I just dumped a bunch of my reiatsu into this sword. I’m gonna go stick it in Ichigo and get him his powers back!” Her smile was big and brilliant, her eyes sparkled. “You wanna help this time?”


	7. Mall Goths and Other Undead Creatures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kira contemplates the myriad tragedies of teen existence between shifts at the Arby's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t have a specific prompt for this one, but someone on Tumblr was talking about fast food/part-timers AUs and there was some back and forth, possibly in the tags, and I just went down a rabbit-hole and here is one where everyone works at the mall, you’re welcome.
> 
> This one ended up out of order because I forgot about it, but it's not like order matters.

“Ma’am,” said Shuuhei, in an extremely serious voice, “this is a fantasy gaming supply store.”

Rangiku dissolved into giggles.

Izuru stuffed his nose deeper into this month’s Dungeon Magazine, which he had absolutely no intention of purchasing. He was trying to ignore Shuuhei draping his arm around Rangiku’s shoulders next to him, or more accurately, trying not to imagine Shuuhei’s arms draped around his own shoulders. Maybe if he smelled like Cinnabon, like she did, instead of Horsey Sauce, he’d have a better chance. 

“They didn’t publish it this month,” Shuuhei informed him.

“Publish what? What are you talking about?” Izuru stammered, shutting the magazine self-consciously.

“You sent in a module, didn’t you? I can tell your style, and none of this month’s looked like yours.”

“Liches, bitches!” Ikkaku cackled from the back corner where he was perusing the Gundam kits.

“Other people write campaigns about liches,” Izuru snarled. 

“But so few include haiku about phylacteries,” Shuuhei sighed dramatically.

“Takes up a whole four syllables, power move if you ask me,” Rukia mumbled from behind _A Clash of Kings_.

“Anyway, I wouldn’t send anything into a magazine, that’s dumb,” Izuru pressed, hoping his cheeks weren’t too pink. To date, he had sent seventeen submissions to Dungeon Magazine. Eleven of them had been about liches. Two had been published, under a pseudonym of course. He hadn’t told anyone.

“Speaking of which, are we playing this weekend?” Rangiku whined. “I can’t have the car back for another three weeks, because of my report card, so I need a ride. “Shuuhei, can you pick me up on the bike?”

“I mean, I can, but we’re playing at my house, so that seems a little dumb. Izuru, how’s the Festiva running?”

The Festiva was not running. The Festiva was a brick. The Festiva needed $1200 (which Izuru didn’t have) of work, or possibly just Renji to hit it really hard again with the crow bar.

“KIIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRAAAAAAA!”

Speaking of the devil, a tall gangly mass of limbs and red hair in a referee’s jersey came barrelling into the gaming store. 

“He’s back here!” Rangiku called, unhelpfully, as if they weren’t always all packed in on the old shitty couch in amongst the WWII rpgs.

“I knew I would find you here!” Renji yelled. “I need you to go back on shift! Isane won’t give me my senior citizen discount and I need Beef’n’Cheddars! I got soccer practice tonight!”

“Reeeeennnjiiiii, will you give me a ride to D&D this weekend?” Rangiku whined. “I’d rather ride in the Camaro than Izuru’s Festiva.” 

The car-shaped pile of rust that Renji insisted had once been a Camaro ran even less frequently than Izuru’s Festiva, but at least it was very loud. 

“If you give me gas money,” he agreed amiably.

“Maybe instead of trying to scam discount sandwiches out of Izuru, you should try to get Omaeda to give you a discount on sunglasses instead,” Shuuhei suggested helpfully. “He’s not such a bad guy, as long as you agree with whatever he says. His house is really nice, too. They always have a million leftovers in the fridge.”

“I’m not saving up for sunglasses,” Renji protested. “I’m saving up to ask–” he trailed off suddenly as Rukia’s eyes surfaced above the top of her book; he clearly hadn’t noticed her small, black clad form curled up in the corner. “– for college.”

“Fuck off, you’re not going to college, you’re gonna work at Foot Locker forever,” shouted Ikkaku, obvious as usual. 

“Better than the fuckin’ Sbarro,” Renji snapped back.

“You shut up, Sbarro rules, and at least I get free food!”

Izuru sighed and heaved himself up off the couch. “I’m back on shift in ten anyway. Let’s go get you your sandwiches, Abarai.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Renji smashed him on the shoulders as they headed back into the mall, toward the food court. “Hey, Izuru,” he hissed, when they were out of earshot. “Have you read those George R. R. Martin books? Are they any good? They’re huge.”

“I’m pretty sure Rukia is just hate-reading them,” Izuru reassured him. “I’ve read them. They’re great, if you don’t mind your favorite characters dying. They’re never gonna get popular, though.” He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Rukia unironically enjoy anything. He had no idea why she hung out at the gaming store with all the broke-ass part-timers. She worked in the high-end clothing boutique that her super-rich family owned. Surely, there was a better class of people she could be hanging out with. “Why don’t you just ask her to prom already? She might say yes.”

“Because I’m broke, dude, I just outgrew my cleats and I had to buy new ones and the only way I’m ever going to college is on a soccer scholarship, so I gotta–”

Izuru waved his hand. He’d heard it all before, and it’s not like his own prospects were in any better shape. “Just go thrift a suit. Pretend you’re doing it ironically. I tell you Rukia would go for that.”

Renji’s jaw worked nervously, contemplating the idea. The big jock was usually a pretty chill friend, but not when it came to the subjects of money or college, and especially not the subject of Kuchiki Rukia. “Are you gonna ask Shuuhei?” he demanded suddenly. 

“No!” Izuru gasped. “I could never!” he hissed under his breath.

“You always act like he’s some sort of movie star. So he owns Doc Martens and wears a vest with a bunch of anarchist patches on it and sleeps through class a lot. He’s also on the school newspaper club _and_ yearbook. Were you there the time Iba gave him a cigarette? It was bad. It was real bad. He’s just as big a dork as you are.”

“No one is as big a dork as I am,” Izuru hissed. “Also, he likes Rangiku, I’m pretty sure.”

“Yeah, well, who wouldn’t?” Renji agreed. “She smells like Cinnabon all the time.”


	8. Study Buddies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rukia gets roped into studying for her exams with Renji and his dumb nerd friends. At least there are cookies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **mothmckrakken asked:**
> 
> _Congratulations on the 500 followers and your anniversary!! 💞 your stuff never fails to make me (and at least 500 others) smile! And with that in mind, if you’re still accepting prompts, how about an Academy Days study session/sleepover? I’m thinking Izuru Momo Renji Rukia but you can add others if you want!_
> 
> _  
> ___  
> 
> 
> _  
> _Thank youuuuuuu! Grumpy Teen Rukia is soooo fun to write! This one also goes out to everyone out that who is currently slogging their way through finals._  
>  _
> 
> _  
> _By the way, if anyone out there is enjoying these Adorkable Academy Hijinks, may I shamelessly plug Luna12's[Life is Like a Boat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20179165)? Or if you have some emotional capacity for Sad Renji there’s always [Hold On, Hold On](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19056340), AKA the only good thing I’ve ever written._  
>  _

“There!” Hinamori announced, sitting back to admire her own work. “Adorable!” She paused. “You can go take a look in the mirror, if you want.”

Rukia reached up to tentatively tug at one of the ponytails Hinamori had arranged her hair into. “I’ll take your word for it. I thought we were going to study.”

Hinamori sighed, clearly disappointed over _something_. “I _suppose_ so. I feel like I’ve been studying all day. Possibly my entire life.”

Rukia pulled her Kidou Theory book onto her lap as though that would protect her from future experimental hairstyles. It was supremely weird that Renji’s perfect friend had invited her to have a “study sleepover.” It was the weekend before finals, and all the girls were doing it, piling into one another’s rooms and eating snacks and painting each other’s nails while they quizzed each other on long lists of historically dead captains and the seven principal hakuda throws and going to sleep wherever they happened to fall over. As it happened, Rukia’s snotty roommate had been dropping sharper and stronger hints all week that Rukia might want to _find someplace else to sleep_ , so she could have her own friends over. That’s the only reason Rukia had said yes to this.

Well, maybe not the _only_ reason. Hinamori was smart. _Super smart._ Rukia knew she was smart too, but not exactly in a ‘“get A’s in all your classes" way. More like in a “trick someone out of all their money and be halfway across town before they realized" sort of way. That way was not proving to be very welcome here at Shin’ou. And if she didn’t manage to scrape through these finals, _Rukia_ was going to find herself not very welcome here at Shin’ou.

“You want to go over kidou?” Momo asked, digging through a pile of binders, each neatly labeled with colored paper on the spines. “Do you need help?” She sounded surprised. “Abarai-kun says you’re very good at kidou.”

Renji had said what? Renji never shut up about how good Momo was at kidou. _She’s a genius, Rukia, she can do a couple of level 30’s with no chant, she even managed to explain it to me, howsabout that for smarts? And Izuru knows all the chants, every one, Ru, he’s got all these funny tricks for remembering ‘em, listen to this one._ Rukia was somewhat dumbfounded that Renji even remembered she existed when he was with his brilliant friends.

“I’m good at _doing_ them,” she mumbled. “The theory stuff is hard.”

“Oh, sure,” Hinamori agreed. “I could stand to brush up on that, myself. Do you want a cookie?”

“Cookie?” Rukia echoed.

“Mmm-hmm! I got a package from my grandmother just yesterday!” She pulled a tin off a shelf and wrestled the lid off. “She said my little brother helped make them, but I’m sure they still taste fine. My granny is an amazing baker.”

Rukia stared at the cookies, frozen. Rukia had stolen food and water and money and clothes from every kind of scumbag and lowlife imaginable, and never felt a speck of regret about it. It seemed absolutely unthinkable to accept a fresh cookie, baked by an actual grandma, freely offered by a girl who was kinder and more gracious than Rukia could ever hope to be.

There was an insistent rapping from the window.

 _“Fiddlesticks!”_ Hinamori exclaimed. “It’s like they _know!”_ She scrambled to her feet and ran to unlatch the window.

Rukia watched the scene curiously. Sure, Renji snuck into her room, well, not _all the time_ , but _enough_. But it seemed very strange that Hinamori, who apparently didn’t even know any curses, would also entertain forbidden visitors. 

Kira Izuru tumbled into the room, followed closely by Renji, who was carrying a double load of books. “Oh, cookies!” he exclaimed before his feet had even hit the floor. “Are those Granny cookies?”

“They are,” Hinamori sniffed, “and you aren’t touching them until Rukia-san picks hers.”

Renji nudged Rukia with his foot. “Well, hurry up, slowpoke, climbing’s hungry work.”

Kira rummaged around in his kosode and pulled out a packet wrapped in beautiful mulberry paper. “I brought tea.”

“Oh, Kira-kun, this is the expen– good kind!”

“My aunt sent it, she said to share,” Kira replied modestly.

“I’ll fetch some hot water! Who wants some?”

“Is it extra fancy?” Renji demanded. “You know Rukia and I only drink the stuff they serve the Soul King.”

“You’re so embarrassing,” Rukia muttered, selecting a cookie that looked a little brown around the edges.

“What’re we studying?” Renji asked, peering over her shoulder while grabbing no less than three cookies from the tin. “Kidou? Good thing, ‘cuz I am definitely gonna fail that, the way things are going.”

“Rukia-san and I will get you straightened out!” Hinamori promised. “I’ll be right back! Kira-kun, can you measure out the tea for me?”

Renji regarded Rukia out of the corner of his eye as he crammed his mouth full of cookie. “You having fun yet?”

“Hinamori- _san_ is very kind,” Rukia replied flatly, through gritted teeth.

Renji gave one of her ponytails a little tug. “This is very cute. You and Momo look like twinsies.”

“Shut your fucking trap, Abarai, or I’ll tell her you said you wanted yours done up the same way.”

“For these cookies,” Renji declared, “I’ll let her put it in a French fucking braid.”


	9. Forgive me, they were delicious (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Hitsugaya absolutely does not want to know what his lieutenant does with her free time, especially when the lieutenants of the 3rd and 9th are involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt from some very brave Anon:**   
>  __
> 
> _If you’re still taking requests, I’m dying to know more about the nature of the Rangiku/Shuuhei/Izuru chaos going on in the background of The Heart is a Muscle! Are there drunken shenanigans going on every single weekend? Does Renji regularly have to field this drama? Wait, does HITSUGAYA regularly have to field this drama???_
> 
> You _think_ you want to know more about it, but trust, me, you absolutely do not. It’s not every weekend, but it does sometimes occur on weekdays.
> 
> Look, Aizen talks big about knowing everything, but the actual collected hot goss of Soul Society exists on Renji’s hopelessly cracked, five-years-out-of-date, perpetually-at-3%-charge Spirit Phone. Furthermore, it is perfectly encrypted, in the sense that only Renji knows the 8 different emoji dialects necessary to decipher all of his group texts. He does not want this. This is not a thing he chose for himself. It is just a thing that has been thrust upon his (well toned) shoulders.
> 
> Captain Hitsugaya did not choose this lifestyle for himself, either.

_Sunday morning_

Toushirou was headed out to the training field for a bit of solitude and hard work. The sun was barely over the horizon, and there was a hint of chill in the air. It was perfect.

He wasn’t even past the barracks complex when he nearly ran headfirst into the Lieutenant of the Third. Kira grinned sheepishly and ducked his head in an embarrassed bow. Toushirou gave him a curt nod in return and tried not to think too much of it.

* * *

_Sunday afternoon_

Toushirou was deeply ensconced in his favorite chair, a fragrant cup of tea at his elbow, deeply in the grip of a novel, when there was a knock on his door, followed by a familiar yodel of “Taiiiiiiiii-choooooooou!”

Carefully marking his place, he put on his sternest face before opening the door.

His lieutenant appeared to have just woken up. Even so, the rumples of her hair seemed artful and her half-lidded sleepy eyes were winsome.

Fortunately, Toushirou was immune to her tricks. “Yes, Matsumoto?” he scowled.

“Do you have any…” she glanced at something she had written on her hand. “Baking… powder? Is that a thing?”

“Do I _bake_ , Matsumoto?” Toushirou demanded.

“You’re very talented, Taichou,” she frowned sadly.

“I do not,” he informed her.

* * *

_Monday morning_

There was a muffin on his desk. It was blueberry.

“Is this for me?” he asked.

“It was the last one,” Matsumoto shrugged.

“You found your baking powder?”

“Abarai brought me some.”

“Abarai? You made Abarai come all the way down from the Sixth?”

“He likes a jog.”

“He’s a sucker is what he is. Why didn’t you call Hisagi? He’s only five minutes away. He bakes, doesn’t he?”

Matsumoto made a noncommittal noise.

It was a very good muffin.

* * *

_Monday afternoon_

Matsumoto was on her phone when Toushirou came in. “–gave it to my captain. It was going to go stale. Well, yes, I know you brought the blueberries, but you left them there, I don’t know what you expected.”

“I forgot to ask the Fifth Seat about how that field mission went,” Toushirou announced, and turned on his heel.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, they were _very good_ blueberries!”

* * *

_Tuesday_

Toushirou arrived early for the Captains’ meeting, as was his habit, but it appeared that Captains Outoribashi and Muguruma had beaten him, and were hotly discussing something.

“C’mon, he’s such a pain when he gets all mopey like this,” Muguruma groaned. “Can’t you get yours to apologize?”

“I would never,” Outoribashi sniffed. “He has never done anything wrong in his entire life. Besides, he’s in a creative fugue right now. These times are painful for him, but art is built on pain.”

Muguruma was making a face that looked like it was built on pain. He glanced over at Toushirou.

“If you two need to finish something up, I can leave again,” Toushirou offered. “But other people are going to start trickling in.”

“There is nothing more to discuss,” Outoribashi said in a very kindly voice.

Something seemed to dawn on Muguruma’s face. “Hey! Hey, Hitsugaya, you’re–”

“Don’t you dare drag him into this,” Outoribashi snapped.

* * *

_Wednesday_

“Momo!” Toushirou exclaimed, his face lighting up.

“Hiya, Shirou!” his beloved sister chirped, stepping into the office.

“I’m so glad you stopped by! I was just thinking about taking a break, we could–”

Momo held up a finger. “Whatever it is, Shirou, I would love to, but I have something to take care of first.” She flashed him a brilliant smile. “It’ll just take a sec!”

Cheerfully, she walked over to his lieutenant, grabbed Matsumoto by the ear, and dragged her, howling and protesting out the door.

Tourshirou had a feeling this was going to take slightly longer than a sec.

* * *

_Thursday_

“Thirty seven minutes,” Toushirou sighed, sitting down at a coffee shop table with his cup of tea. “It was almost impossible this week. Go on. Let’s hear it.”

Byakuya took a long sip of his own tea. “I have eschewed this week’s Seireitei Bulletin crossword.”

Toushirou blinked at him. “What do you mean you ‘eschewed’ it? We always do the crossword!”

“I have eschewed it.”

“But _why_?”

Byakuya took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of his tea. “The Bulletin goes to press on Tuesday evenings. It happens, on occasion, that between Monday morning and Tuesday noon, my adjutant receives a significant number of Text Messages on his Spirit Phone which cause him to sigh heavily and roll his eyes. If it gets to the dire point at which he places the cursed thing in his desk drawer, the week’s crossword will be incomprehensible. A waste of one’s time. In the future, I will be happy to inform you of when such a convergence occurs.” Byakuya refused to say more on the matter.

Later, Toushirou looked back over the crossword. The word “petty” appeared twice. The long vertical was “GETOVERITALREADY.” He remembered finding the clue “baked good reserved for people who don’t go back to work at 7am on a Sunday” to be particularly fiendish.

On a whim, Toushirou turned to the poetry section. “My world, cold as ash / Betrayed by those I cared for / I hunger for love.”

Toushirou threw the magazine in the recycle bin.

* * *

_Friday afternoon_

“I need to leave early,” Matsumoto informed him.

“No, you don’t.”

“I do. I need to leave early because–”

“Don’t tell me. I do not want to know.”

“If I don’t tell you, will you let me leave early?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“An hour.”

“Thirty minutes.”

“An hour.”

“You can have the hour if you run the 8am drills for the new recruits on Monday.”

Matsumoto wrinkled her nose. “I’ll take the thirty minutes.”

* * *

_Late Friday night_

Matsumoto wasn’t the only one who had wild Friday nights. Toushirou had cleaned house in a round robin shogi tournament between himself and Captains Ukitake and Kuchiki. He probably could have gone another round, but Captain Ukitake liked to be in bed by ten. He had eaten a little too much candy, which somehow always happened whenever he spent too much time at the Thirteenth.

Toushirou’s footsteps slowed as he walked past Matsumoto’s quarters. There were noises emanating from within. Music, actually. Toushirou paused to listen. Acoustic guitar, check. Matsumoto’s smokey croon, very nice. A… a tambourine? Sure. A tambourine. Perfect.

Toushirou breathed a huge sigh of relief. _Finally._

Wait. Wait, was that _a koto_ , as well?

Toushirou went straight home to bed.


	10. Like Her Father Before Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tiny, pink-haired shinigami joins the Eleventh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **njii-mood** **asked:**
> 
> **__** _Congrats on your anniversary and the 500 followers! If you are still taking requests, what about Ichika having a day as a shinigami apprentice in squad 11 and maybe Renji is there to see how it's going? :)_
> 
> Thank you, thank you! I apologize, I mixed it up a little, because I got bogged down in _why would Squad 11 take on an apprentice_? _Who thought this was a good idea_? Ichika is, like, 9 in the epilogue, right? Anyway, longtime Polynya readers know that there is only one way to get into Squad 11, and that’s to knock out a seated officer in a huge, chaotic free-for-all that they hold from time-to-time, and once I got the idea in my head, well… well, I hope you like it anyway. :)

“Over there, Group 3,” Ikkaku waved away the mohawked thug he had just signed in. “NEXT!” 

At first, he thought that the next person in line hadn’t heard him, until he heard the slam of a hand on the sign-in table. Yumichika started cackling, and Ikkaku’s eyes trailed downward. Laughter immediately sputtered out of his mouth. 

The girl standing opposite him took a deep breath, her eyebrows beetling. “The flyer said anyone could sign up!” she roared in the voice of a child raised by the two loudest people in Soul Society.

Ikkaku wiped a tear away from his eye. “School gettin’ too tough, kid? Planning on dropping out?”

Abarai Ichika, known shinigami prodigy, who had entered Shin’ou at the tender age of 8, stabbed a finger at the paper she had slammed down on the desk. “I’m approved for an apprenticeship,” she bit off. 

Ikkaku blinked and looked down at it. It was a permission form of some sort, with the Shin’ou Seal on it, permitted up to 10 hours per week, course credit given, right official looking. “Apprenticeship? What the fu– uh… the hel– uh… shi–”

“They’re trying to get kids combat experience earlier,” Yumichika snorted, wiping away his own tears. “We got all those pamphlets about it? What do you _do_ at those Vice Captains’ meetings, nap? Also, what the fuck is wrong with you, you think she’s never heard a curse before?”

“I know all the curses,” Ichika intoned grimly.

“Well, the Eleventh ain’t got time for trainees,” Ikkaku growled. “Everyone pulls their weight around here.”

Ichika jerked her head toward the crowd of thugs, lowlifes and criminals looking to Brawl their way into the Gotei today. “You think I can’t hang with this crowd of sorry losers?” She rested her hand meaningfully on the hilt of her zanpakutou and Ikkaku’s eyes drifted to the lightning bolt-shaped tsuba. Zanpakutou, not asauchi. They didn’t get a whole lot of recruits who already had shikai, and it tended to confer a huge advantage in the Brawl. She might not be wrong. The optics on that were… not going to be great. Already, a lot of the other competitors were eying her distastefully.

“We don’t take nobles,” Ikkaku decided.

“Yes, you do,” Ichika corrected him. “Your Sixth Seat comes from a branch of the Kasumiohji clan. She’s friends with my mom.”

“Well, we don’t take little girls!” Ikkaku exploded.

Ichika stared at him. “Your squad _famously_ takes little girls.”

“Darling,” Yumichika said, ignoring the large fellow who appeared to be made entirely of hair and scars that he had been signing in. “Surely you could have your pick of divisions. The Eleventh is rude and painful and pays very poorly. Why in Soul Society do you want to join us?”

_“TO FIGHT!”_ Ichika bellowed.

Ikkaku started to nod, _right on, kid_ , but Yumichika rolled his eyes. “All three of us have met your father, we know you know the _right_ answer. But what is the _real_ answer?”

Ichika rubbed one finger under her nose. “There’s only one way into the Eleventh, and that’s the Brawl.” She scowled. “I don’t wanna hear anyone say I got in because of my folks.” Her knuckles were white on the grip of her sword.

Ikkaku sneered. He could kinda respect that. “They know you’re doing this?” he prodded. Not that he gave a shit what those two thought! They could just _try_ to tell him his squad wasn’t good enough for their baby! He’d take ‘em both on at once! Although, to be fair, Rukia had done a pretty nice job training up Shino, who had shaped up to be right decent at kidou, and had even picked up a manner or two at the Thirteenth.

“Um, yes?” Ichika made a vague gesture to the muddy pit where the Brawl was about to take place. Slowly, Ikkaku’s head swiveled around. On the other side of the fence, Abarai and Kuchiki waved cheerfully at him, or possibly at Ichika. 

Even worse, the Kenpachi, who almost never bothered with Brawls, stood with them, tall and stolid. Watching. He gave Ikkaku a tiny, curt nod. _Fuck._

“Fine. _Fine!”_ Ikkaku snarled, scrawling “Abarai, Small” on his list. “Group 4, over there! Try not to get mud on your hair ribbon.”

Ichika narrowed her big, violet eyes at him. The air seemed to crackle with ozone. “I’m coming for you, Pachinko Head.”

All the hair was standing up on Ikkaku’s arms. “Get outta here!” he roared, waving his hand toward Group 4.

Ichika trotted off, whistling, looking very, very smug. No good was going to come of this.

“She’s about the right size,” Yumichika pointed out.

“Right size?” Ikkaku echoed. “For _what?”_

“Oh… you know,” Yumichika mused idly, and made a little mime of hefting a child onto his shoulder and making a little running motion. “You think she’s got any sense of direction?”


	11. Don't Drag Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isshin explains the joys of instant curry and Social Distortion to his former subordinates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **diademchiofthetripod (Luna12 on AO3) asked: __**  
>  _I would love your take on any conversations that happen between Isshin and Matsumoto and/or Hitsugaya, anytime after they realize their long missing presumed dead former captain is Ichigo's dad, living the life of a goofy human._
> 
> YOU KNOW I HAVE A LOT OF ISSHIN FEELINGS, Y U DO THIS??
> 
> Anyway, this happens some time in the middle of the Advance Team Arc.

“Don’t tell my precious daughter,” Isshin said, plunking two cups of steaming, microwavable curry in front of his two former subordinates. “I hide these in the clinic. They are amazing! You just buy these cups and you put them in the microwave and in three minutes, it’s curry! Real, delicious curry! Not as delicious as the delicious curry of my beautiful daughter, but very good on a day when your ungrateful son has eaten all the leftovers! Be careful, the magical box that cooks them creates hot spots.”

“Captain…” Toushirou started tentatively. 

Matsumoto sniffed the curry suspiciously.

“Oh, oh, and you have to hear this, it is going to blow your mind!” Isshin ran over to his record collection and began to thumb through it. Toushirou was probably still too straight-laced to appreciate punk, but Rangiku always had a great ear. “My terrible daughters choose to listen to music on their phones, because they have no respect for fidelity. Ichigo appreciates vinyl, but often chooses convenience over sound quality, and I have forced myself to accept that.” He eased _White Light, White Heat, White Trash_ off the shelf.

“Captain,” Toushirou said more firmly. “We… we understand why you like the World of the Living.” 

“Everyone likes the World of the Living,” Rangiku tilted her head.

“I do not, I hate the World of the Living,” Toushirou put in quickly. “But we get why you wanted to stay.” He tipped his head slightly toward the life-sized poster of Masaki. “It was just… really sudden. Why didn’t you tell us? We thought you were dead.” 

Isshin chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. “I didn’t leave Soul Society for a woman,” he blurted out suddenly. “I mean… it fell out that way, but I didn’t leave, intending never to come back. That was an accident.”

“You couldn’t even send word?” Rangiku whined, investigating her curry. That was Rangiku for you. He had long wondered if he _had_ hurt her feelings, if she had missed him at all, or if she was happy to finally be rid of his antics. But her put-on flippancy told him all he needed to know.

“I did something that wasn’t very legal,” Isshin admitted. 

“You think we would have ratted you out?” Rangiku exclaimed. “That’s even worse than being left with no word!”

“No!” Isshin protested. “No, it was never that. I would have trusted you two with anything.”

No, it was Isshin himself who couldn’t be trusted. He’d treated his entire life in Soul Society as a joke, a game. Everything had always come easily to him– his powers, girls, his position. When his cousin died– Kaien, who had been kind and good and noble in every sense of the word– everyone had hoped Isshin would step up and take his place, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t that sort of guy. 

Isshin remembered sitting in Urahara’s shop, watching Masaki sleep, thinking about what he had just done. He had given up his shinigami powers for the sake of a _Quincy_. Some might see it as a personal sacrifice, but a Gotei captain’s life was not his own; his powers were the property of the state, essential to the peace and prosperity of the Seireitei.

“It’s a pity I’ve been banished from Soul Society and have no way to contact anyone there,” Urahara sighed. “I imagine there might be some people there that might be worried about you.”

Isshin thought about Kuukaku hearing that he had died in the line of duty. A hero, like Kaien. A tragedy. Or she might hear, through one of Urahara’s shady contacts, that her no-account, lazy cousin had, true to form, deserted. Committed treason, abandoned the Clan. “No one’ll miss me,” he had shrugged.

“Kuchiki says the Tenth is as strong as ever,” Isshin said now, cracking a smile. “Leaving it to you two is probably the most responsible thing I’ve ever done.”

In the Living World, he had learned about the value of a brief human life. Masaki probably saved more lives while he held down the fort for her than he ever would have, falling asleep in Captains’ meetings and seeing how drunk he could get at one of Kuchiki Byakuya’s fancy-ass parties. In Karakura, he had set bones and nursed fevers and shocked hearts back into beating. He had held hands and shed tears with those whose loved ones he could not save. He had created three small people who continued to grow into fine humans, no matter how many mistakes he made. He was a better person as a human than he had ever been as a soul.

Isshin picked up the needle on the record player and hovered it over the starting point for _Don’t Drag Me Down_. “My gorgeous wife introduced me to this band,” he informed them. “The bassline on this is gonna blow your socks off.”

Toushirou and Rangiku exchanged a look that Isshin wasn’t a part of. Didn’t deserve to be a part of. He was so proud of both of them he couldn’t stand it.

“Yeah, let’s hear it,” Rangiku finally agreed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. 

Toushirou had started digging into his curry. “Even though she clearly didn’t have any taste.”

Isshin dropped the needle.


	12. A Decision, Carefully Weighed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichika comes to her uncle for wisdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **diademchiofthetripod (Luna12 on AO3) asked: __**_Pretty please, can we can Byakuya's reaction to Ichika, his little niece blossom, joining the 11th? I'm happy with a Rukia bunny illustration of this, or a few lines of dialogue, or any scrap you want to give out._
> 
> I suppose this is a follow-up to Part 10. Anyway, I screwed this up. I don’t know what a reaction is. This is… a… pre-action. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 

“Uncle,” asked Ichika, as they ran through their sword form together on the West Lawn of Kuchiki Manor, “is Mother one of the most skilled practitioners of the Kuchiki Family sword form? I have heard you say that she is, but I have also heard it said that she practices it in an unorthodox way.”

“Your mother,” Byakuya explained, “came to that sword form late in her zanjutsu education. Further, her stature makes it difficult to perform some of the moves. She practices a modified system informed by her own experiences.”

“Is it better, do you think,” Ichika mused, “to practice a style purely, or to learn broadly, and fight in a way best suited to one’s own strengths?”

“That is a difficult question,” Byakuya frowned. “I have practiced the Kuchiki sword form to near exclusion for my entire life, and it has served me well. Your parents– your father, in particular, know a great many styles, and have created something new, unique to them. I suspect that is something you must discover for yourself, with the assistance of your zanpakutou.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” replied Ichika.

🌸 🌸 🌸

“Uncle,” asked Ichika, as they practiced their calligraphy in the sun-filled library, “you did not begin your career in the Gotei at the Sixth, did you?”

“That is correct,” Byakuya confirmed. “My father and grandfather ran the Sixth at the time, and felt that some experience away from the family would be beneficial. I served at the Thirteenth, under Captain Ukitake Juushirou, whom your mother also served, both as officer and adjutant. He was a longtime family friend and an excellent mentor.”

“How did you find the Thirteenth?” Ichika wondered.

“I prefer the Sixth,” Byakuya replied tersely. “But it was a valuable experience. Every squad has its particularities. I learned much there, about leadership, about people, about myself. And it is important to understand how different parts of the Gotei work and to forge relationships across companies. That was neglected for a long time, and one of the major contributing forces to the Winter War.”

“I see,” agreed Ichika. “Thank you, Uncle.”

🌸 🌸 🌸

“Uncle,” asked Ichika, as she handed him the extra small pruning shears, “you trained with Shihouin Yoruichi in your youth, did you not?”

Byakuya froze. “Must we discuss this amongst the orchids, Ichika?”

“Sorry, Uncle.”

Byakuya trimmed a withered leaf thoughtfully. “It is true, I did.”

“But you dislike her. Or did that occur later?”

“No, I have always despised her.”

“How did you learn anything from her, then?”

“Training is not meant to be a pleasant experience, Ichika. Especially as your skills begin to truly bloom, you must seek out the masters of their craft. These people are sometimes loathsome, but you must steel yourself against your revulsion, and focus on what you can learn from them.”

“Hmm,” said Ichika. “Thank you, Uncle.”

🌸 🌸 🌸

It was Wednesday, which meant that the Abarai family were in attendance at dinner. Rukia seemed on edge, and Renji seemed downright twitchy. Byakuya wondered if there was something on their minds. Ichika seemed perfectly relaxed, though, eating enough for three children of her size, as usual. She put down her chopsticks and beamed at him cheerfully. Perhaps he was a bit too indulgent of her, but she was a very good niece.

“Uncle,” Ichika chirped. “Guess what!”

🌸 🌸 🌸


	13. Hisana House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even in a crappy little down, there can be hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **acompletenonentity asked:**
> 
> **__** _Grats on your anniversary and 500 followers! Here's to many many more. If it's not too much to ask, I'd love a drabble where Rukia and Renji open up an orphanage in Inuzuri and dedicate it to Hisana._
> 
> Anything for you, friend! I hope you like worldbuilding, because, uh, I like worldbuilding.

“Hey, look, Renji an’ Rukia are here!”

“D’you think they brought books again?”

“C’mon, Kaito, we’re allowed to knock off work when we get visitors, let’s go?”

“Go on, I wanna finish this,” Sakashita Kaito mumbled, as he staked up a rather anemic looking bean plant.

“They’re real nice, and Renji always has candy!” Rui shouted on her way out of the garden.

The afterlife was… not exactly what Kaito had expected. When he first got here, he assumed he had come to a very specific hell for asshole street kids. He could barely remember his life now, except that it had ended with a knife in an alley and that he had been a bad kid. All the kids in Inuzuri were street kids, or so he had thought, before, delirious with hunger, he got in another knife fight over a moldy bun, and woke up here, at the Hisana House. It had a fancier, more official name, but everyone called it the Hisana House.

If Kaito thought Inuzuri was weird, Hisana House was double weird. Triple weird, even. The Hisana it was named after had apparently been the super rich wife of some super rich dude up in the Seireitei. Maybe she had been a soft touch. Who knew why some rich people would bother opening a kid’s center down in District 78 of all places? It certainly didn’t feel like a place a rich person would design either. Nothing at Hisana House was _nice_ or _fancy_ , but that was good, because nice and fancy things tended to get stolen in Inuzuri. They practiced their writing in sand trays instead of on paper, because paper was valuable and _portable_. The roof never leaked and it was kept warm inside, because blankets tended to disappear, but it was a lot harder to make off with a whole-ass roof. And all the grown-ups who worked there were from Inuzuri themselves, often big tough people who looked like they ought to be breaking heads on street corners instead of teaching little kids to read. But that was good, too, because what Inuzuri needed more than anything else was _jobs_.

Hisana House got visitors from time to time. Mostly, it was business owners from the middle districts, because even if they had to pay for the emigration permit, Inuzuri kids who could read and write and do sums were still cheaper than the local labor, and it ended up being a bargain for both sides, because what could be more valuable than a ticket _out_ of this shithole?

A few weeks, an old guy from the District 70 Consolidated Shinigami Recruitment Station showed up to fawn over a few of the kids. He had looked at Kaito for a long time, and left him with a tattered, inscrutable text book about something called _spiritual energy_ and a set of exercises he was supposed to be doing, with the cryptic promise that if he got good at them, there might be a second hand practice sword in his future. Kaito felt like a weird asshole, squatting and “trying to sink his spirit into the earth, like the roots of a tree,” but he really wanted that practice sword. 

“Hey, there.”

Kaito looked up.

There was a lady peeking into the garden. She was small, one of the smallest grown-ups he had ever seen, and she was way too clean and pretty to be from Inuzuri. 

“How are those beans doing?” she asked, striding into the garden like she owned the place. 

“For shit,” Kaito replies. “Nothing grows in Inuzuri.”

She made a humming sound. “That bok choy’s not doing half bad,” she observed.

“Yeah, it’s bok choy with every meal around here,” Kaito griped, though he was perfectly aware of how lucky he was to even get a meal every day.

The woman dug a few paper packets out of her pocket and held them out. “A few new varieties to try. These cucumbers are supposed to be resistant to that mold that took out the last ones, and these daikon can take much larger temperature swings than the usual variety.”

Kaito stood up, and wiping his hand on his yukata, took them gingerly. 

“You’re new,” the lady observed. “I’m Rukia.”

“Sakashita Kaito,” he replied.

There was something weird about Rukia and he had just put his finger on it. Most of the kids around here felt like nothing, but there were a few– the same ones that the old shinigami had chatted with, who felt like little flames, like a lit match. Kaito had met a girl on the street once who burned like a candle. The shinigami himself had felt like being too close to a campfire. They’d all gotten extra food before he showed up, and Kaito had felt exhausted after he left. 

This Rukia lady was something else. She wasn’t a nothing, but she wasn’t a _something_ , either. She was like an absence of something. For some reason, she reminded Kaito of a deep pit with spikes at the bottom, and a few leaves thrown over the top to disguise it. He wondered who she was. He wondered if you could hide the flame inside of yourself, what that would feel like to an outsider.

“How do you like it here?” she asked casually. 

He shrugged. “Better than being hungry, I guess. You here to hire people?”

“Nah,” she replied. “Just dropping off some donations. Visiting. Checking on the peppers.”

Kaito glanced over at the peppers, the one thing that _did_ grow in Inuzuri. Grew like crazy, actually. Unfortunately, they weren’t edible– they were so spicy they would burn the shit out of your mouth. “I don’t even know why we bother with those,” Kaito snorted.

“Really?” Rukia asked, raising her eyebrow. “They’re quite valuable, actually. There are rich dumbasses up in the Seireitei who will pay a mint for those stupid things. You probably didn’t know this place was self-funding, did you?”

Kaito blinked her, aghast.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned him with a grin. “You’d never find a fence that’ll take ‘em. You need a ton of export permits, and they need special handling. That’s the way with most of the good stuff down in Inuzuri.” 

Kaito stared at the peppers for a moment. “Y’know, that makes me feel better, actually. I knew some rich guy wouldn’t open an orphanage down here out of the goodness of his heart. You’re the pepper lady, then?”

“Huh? No, I told you, just dropping some stuff off. I grew up around here, actually, before this place opened. It was almost impossible to get out then, but we did it. I like that this place is here. I wish we had a place like this when I was a kid.” She scratched her head. “Also, my husband is a nut for football, and he says that the only true football is Inuzuri streetball. You play?”

Kaito shook his head. “Nah.”

From around the building came a wail of “Rukiaaaaaa! We’re choosing teams!”

Rukia gestured with her head. “C’mon, then. You should learn.”

There was something about Rukia that made Kaito want to go along with whatever she said. Maybe it was because she was pretty, or because she seemed to understand how stuff worked around here, or maybe because she talked like she was used to bossing people around, but like many Inuzuri punks before him, he shrugged, and followed her lead.


	14. Gourmands Abroad! Romantic Tales of Flavor and Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The charms of all-day breakfast are lost on the distinguished palates of the 3rd Division.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have joked in a couple of my longer fics ([Call Me Back When the War is Over](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22456954) and [There is No Bankai in Footbal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24291655)) about Rose and Kira co-writing a restaurant review column in the Seireitei Bulletin. AO3 user Borntobewilde dropped me the comment:
> 
> _“Okay now, I'm crying EXTRA hard that I missed your drabble request on tumblr because this is what I would have requested for sure! I love the new 3rd division so much!!!”_
> 
> How could I say no?!
> 
> I started working on this earlier in the week, spent three days trying to puzzle out what deep and interesting observation I wanted to make on the Izuru - Rose relationship and then gave up and made them review the awful waffle place Rukia and Renji like to go to when they’re hungover. Enjoy.
> 
> PS: Berry’s is some sort of Denny’s rip-off where the Karakura kids hung out in The New Captain Shuusuke Amagai Arc, obviously it imprinted deeply on my brain. I could never make something like that up.

Gourmands Abroad! Romantic Tales of Flavor and Adventure

By Outoribashi “Rose” Roujuurou

With Kira Izuru

My beloved readers: after your many tender and heart-wrenching letters, I have done it! I have caved to popular demand! Despite my many misgivings, not to mention the tearful protests of my co-author, I have been moved by your pleadings and I have sallied forth to that recently opened paean to inexpensive cuisine of the Living World: The Seireitei Waffle Hut.

I would take a moment to remind my readers that I, your devoted restaurant critic, lived for many years in the Living World, and have, unfortunately, actually dined at “Berry’s”, the horrific excuse for an eatery from which the Seireitei Waffle Hut draws its inspiration. It fulfills a very specific niche in dining culture, namely providing cheap, Western-style mostly breakfast-specific sustenance for teenagers in the wee hours of the morning. The kindest thing I can say for it is that it is _always open_.

The Seireitei Waffle Hut makes a concerted effort to duplicate this experience to the greatest degree possible, from the formica tables to the affordable pricing to the possibility of adding whipped cream to literally any of the menu items. My co-reviewer, in his usual mischievous way, tried to coax me into ordering a bowl of chili with whipped cream. I _declined._

Let me take a moment to discuss the titular waffles. I will not prevaricate. They are excellent. They are large, fluffy and crisp. They are the dimensions and texture to adequately be pressed into service as a futon. One should absolutely not order anything at this restaurant that is not the waffles. They are available with a wide variety of fresh fruits, nuts and flavored syrups. There is a special wall of the restaurant honoring the patron who has consumed the most waffles in one sitting, and her record was _seventeen_ , a number as awe-inspiring as it is disturbing. (For various reasons, I was discouraged from printing the name of the person who holds this dubious distinction, but my long-suffering co-reviewer-- whom I had been led to believe had not previously patronized the Seireitei Waffle Hut-- revealed to me that he actually witnessed this gastronomic feat and that it was, in his words, “absolutely horrifying.”)

Speaking of my dear companion, I encouraged him to order a hamburger, as he had never had one before, and I wished to experience the reaction of a man eating a hamburger for the first time. As hamburgers go, it did not appear to be anything special, although perhaps this was merely _authenticity_ , as Berry’s is also not known for their gourmet beef. His reaction, dear reader, was _exquisite_. He picked it up. He hefted it. “I do not like holding this,” he noted. He took a bite. He put it down again. “I have eaten a hamburger,” he declared. “It was _excessive_.” He did not take any further bites. As if all of this were not enough, he then ate a single soggy French fry and made the saddest face I have ever seen a person make. I wish that all of you could have been there to witness this with me.

Confidential to MK: The “Roundup Burger” appears to have exactly the same hideous sauce as its Living World counterpart, you may dine in satisfaction. Tell your lieutenant that the “Birthday Cake Pancakes” are also a menu option, although I could not bring myself to verify their authenticity. Which of your lieutenants you tell this to, I leave to your own discretion.

Alas, for myself, I ordered the unfortunately named “Up ‘n At ‘Em Combo”. I ordered this, not because I have ever in my entire life awoken into a state that I would describe as “Up ‘n At ‘Em”, but because it contained a large sampling of most of the menu items: rubbery eggs, limp bacon, hash browns that had spent far too long in the freezer before being reconstituted. The pancakes were not a total affront, but they seemed lackluster while we still had waffles on the table, available for consumption. Exclusive tip! The “syrup” provided at the table is artificial sugar water, foul and beneath our dignity as epicures. Real maple syrup can be had by beseeching the waitstaff. Kira tells me we have Lt. Anonymous-Waffle-Eating-Champion to thank for this key piece of information, apparently, so thank you, my dear, on behalf of my readership. Slathering my entire plate in this miracle goo did not make it _good_ , but it did make it _edible._

I cannot leave the topic of the Seireitei Waffle Hut without addressing the availability of that currently trendy Living World beverage, coffee. It is _available_. There are _free refills_. It is not _coffee_. I can only assume they obtain it by murdering coffee in the Living World, performing konsou, and serving the ghost of coffee here in Soul Society. I did enjoy watching my brave co-reviewer consume five cups of this vile brew over the course of his meal and vibrating his way through the rest of his workday.

The Seireitei Waffle Hut also offers acceptable milkshakes, which one can order _to-go_. In exchange for being, once again, the best of sports, I treated my co-author to a strawberry one, mostly because I enjoy watching him fail to use straws. Reader, it was _adorable_. Kira reports that it was _worth it_.

_Seireitei Waffle Hut_

_Block 57, Building 4_

_Slackwater Lock Ward_

_Seireitei_

_Price: $_

_Rating: 1 star out of 5_


	15. A Needle in a Haystack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rukia attempts to track down someone from her sister's past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is response to comment I got over at ff.net, from Chie723:  
> Would you consider writing a Drabble about Rukia and Renji meeting Hisana's former lady-in-waiting?
> 
> If I have gone a bit... _overboard_ it's because my Tumblr buddy Kaickos and I were just talking recently about how much we are obsessed with the staff of Kuchiki Manor and I saw this as an _excuse_. (The bit about Bonnie is also for Kaickos, who told me that's what she thought Hisana would name a dog after I told her that Byakuya's other dogs were named Sakura Bloom Cascade and Mountainside Granite Crest)

It’s almost impossible to find someone in Rukongai, the old saying goes, but it’s not exactly true. There are no records, no central offices, so much death and rebirth and death again. It’s _hard_ to find someone in Rukongai, but it’s far from _impossible_.

Renji found people all the time.

Renji found Rukia twice between the time they met and the time they officially became friends, once because he wanted to yell at her, and once because he needed a striker for a football game. Rukia wasn’t used to being found in those days, and she found it a little terrifying when he just showed up with that sour scowl on his face.

“It’s just a matter of paying attention,” he told her, a few years later, after he got home from beating up a guy who had stiffed him 200 kan on a delivery job. “Asking around. Being the sort of guy people tell stuff to.”

This ancient conversation popped into Rukia’s head one evening as she was telling her maid, Mikan, a drawn out Hollow-hunting story while Mikan brushed her hair. It suddenly hit Rukia like a bolt of lightning that _Hisana_ must have had a Mikan, too-- someone who knew her and took care of her, who listened to her thoughts and feelings and daily tribulations.

This was the Seireitei, not the Rukon. Finding someone shouldn’t be such a big deal. The Kuchiki family was real big on record-keeping, for sure, and Rukia was sure that her brother’s stiff-necked Head Stewart, Seike, surely had the woman’s name and dates of employment written in his tidy hand in a ledger somewhere. The problem was that Seike would sure tell Byakuya she had been asking, and Byakuya wouldn’t approve of this enterprise. Byakuya felt that servants were servants and that to _talk to them_ or _engage them_ in matters that were not related to their jobs was _rude_ and _invasive_.

Rukia wondered if Byakuya told Hollow-hunting stories to the ethereally handsome valet that brushed _his_ hair. She guessed not.

So, instead of going directly to the source, she tried to _pay attention_ and figure out who might be ripe for _asking around_. Rukia wasn’t exactly the sort of girl people liked to talk to, especially not the servants, but Hirai, the man who devoted his days to Byakuya’s trio of exquisitely-bred hunting dogs, was a known _talker_ , and also, Rukia never minded going down to the stables to pet the dogs, who had better manners than a lot of shinigami she knew. Hirai didn’t really remember Hisana’s maid, although he figured she must’ve had one. He also happened to mention that the prize-winning grandmother of the current pack, Bon Lanterns On the Current, had actually just been named “Bonnie.” Apparently, Shiba Kaien had told Hisana over dinner that was what his little brother had named the boar Kaien found in the woods for him, and Hisana thought it was the cutest name she had ever heard. When one of the bitches whelped a week later, Hisana immediately staked her claim. Byakuya had pinned a fancy name on Bonnie retroactively, because he felt strongly that you couldn’t just give a dog a _regular name_. This story had _layers_. Rukia couldn’t stop thinking about it for days.

When her shamisen lesson rolled around, later that week, she recalled that the genteel elderly woman who taught her had been Hisana’s teacher, as well. “Oh, yes,” Ms. Nanaha nodded as they tuned their instruments. “Yes, her name was Ujiie and she had a beautiful singing voice. You sister had a lovely voice, too. Deep for woman's-- like yours. Singing for too long took her breath, but Miss Ujiee was always happy to accompany. Those were nice times.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Lord Byakuya would often be ‘conveniently’ walking through the garden during Lady Hisana’s lessons. She used to bring a pile of chestnuts and pitch them out the window at him. Lady Hisana had a very good arm, but Lord Byakuya was quite skilled at catching.” She smiled mildly. “Such a lovely couple.”

Ohori, the cook liked Rukia because she gave him the only excuses he ever got to make desserts. Ohori loved his job, but he also loved crafting delicate little wagashi. He had been a junior chef in Hisana’s day, and he remembered her maid quite well. Hisana had apparently had a fondness for dorayaki, and also a fondness for eating them in the library while she was drawing. The maid, whose given name was Yoshiko and had light brown hair, always pulled back in a chignon, used to come down to fetch them and also flirt with him. This last bit was delivered with a wisp of fond nostalgia. Rukia felt inordinately proud of her detective skills.

That glowy feeling of success lasted until bedtime, when Mikan was brushing out Rukia’s hair again.

“Do you know if we still have someone named Ujiie Yoshiko on the staff?” Rukia mused to Mikan hopefully.

“We-elll…” Mikan drew out, and then explained that she, too, had been asking around. Apparently, upon a suggestion from a friend in the House Guard, who had it from one of the House Guard old-timers, that she should talk to old Uka in housekeeping. Old Uka was a good person to know, apparently, if you were interested in 300 years of Kuchiki Family secrets and happened to have a tipple of sake about your person. After a quick side trip to another friend, Assistant Sommelier Katsunogi (since when was Mikan friends with the sommeliers??), Mikan had found out that Ujiie had left the household after Hisana’s death. “She apparently went off to become a governess for a lesser noble family after the mother died,” Mikan frowned as she teased a knot from the ends of Rukia’s hair. “She didn’t know which family. I’m sorry.”

* * *

“I can’t decide whether to be blown away by Mikan’s intelligence gathering skills or depressed because the trail goes completely cold after that,” Rukia sighed over her own sake, later, to Renji. “I guess it was a dumb idea in the first place.”

“It doesn’t sound like a total loss,” Renji pointed out. “You heard some new stories about your sis, right? Cripes, I would love to see the captain get nailed in the head with a chestnut.”

“True,” Rukia admitted. “Oh, look at this!” She rummaged around in her sleeve and pulled out an old photograph. “I found a picture in the library of Brother and Bonnie-chan!”

Renji snorted at the sepia-toned photograph of his captain standing stoically in hunting gear, the effect totally ruined by the cheerfully panting hound at his side. It seemed to Rukia that her boyfriend had that look on his face like his brain was off engaged on some other problem. He had a tendency to get a little quiet when the subject of Hisana rolled around. Rukia didn't like to press the matter, so she dropped the subject and listened to Lieutenant Hinamori tease Lieutenant Kira about his new haircut instead.

In fact, Renji was busy thinking about something his Ninth Seat had offhandedly mentioned to him once, and thinking about doing a little asking around of his own.

* * *

Rukia had never been to the Shirogane’s house, although they were frequent visitors to Kuchiki Manor. She was somewhat surprised to learn that Renji had been invited over for dinner on a semi-regular basis since he’d taken over the vice-captain post from Ginjirou.

“At first I thought he was worried about your brother,” Renji explained, “and wanted to make sure I did a good job. But he later told me that he could tell I had a lot of potential and that he was sure I was gonna get in good with the captain, and was, uh, hoping me and Mihane would hit it off.”

Rukia gasped. “Are you telling me you gave up your chances to _inherit the sunglasses store_ for me?”

Renji stretched and interlaced his hands behind his head. “I don’t think Mihane would have me anyway. Gotta keep my sights realistic, y’know?”

If Ginjirou was at all disappointed at the failure of his matchmaking scheme, he certainly didn’t show it. This was apparently the first time Renji had visited since his courtship with Rukia had been officially recognized, and one would have thought it was Ginjirou’s own child who stood to marry into the Kuchiki main line.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Mihane told Rukia while her father dragged Renji off to show him some of his new goggle designs. “She was my nurse when I was little, but she’s been with us so long, she’s practically family. Apparently, she used to work for your family. I didn’t even know that until Vice-Captain asked me if I knew someone by her name. I guess he remembered something I said a few years ago about my mom dying around the same time Lady Kuchiki did. I don’t even remember saying it. He’s got a mind like a steel trap, that guy. It’s awful working for him, you know.”

“I bet,” Rukia echoed numbly as Mihane pushed open the shoji to the gardens.

“Auntie Yoshiko, Lady Rukia is here!”

A middle-aged woman stood on the engawa. She had light brown hair, streaked with grey, and kind eyes that were filling with tears. “It’s true,” she gasped. “You _do_ look just like her!”

* * *

“Was it a good visit?” Renji asked gently on the walk home.

Rukia nodded rapidly, too emotional to say anything.

“That was a pretty good trick,” Renji noted. “Tracking her down like that.”

Rukia snorted. “What are you talking about? I mean, I tried. I tried to do what you said, pay attention, ask around, be the sort of person people tell things to. But then you and Mikan found her without me doing anything.”

Renji’s brows scrunched. “When did I say that?”

“I dunno. A million years ago or so.”

Renji slung his arm around her shoulder. “You know I get hit on the head a lot, so you’ll forgive me for not remembering the exact conversation, but I _think_ what I was trying to say was that the trick is finding some busybodies to do the work for you. Which sounds like exactly what you did.”

Rukia leaned against him, and he pressed her into his side affectionately.

“What I want to know now,” Rukia said slowly. “Is how Mikan is getting so much intelligence out of the _House Guard_.”

“Oh, they’re all terrible gossips,” Renji pointed out. “But if you want to know which one she’s _‘befriended’_ , I’ve got a sparring date with Guard Captain Kamata on Tuesday. I bet he knows who’s a soft touch for a pair of big eyes and freckles.”

“Gosh, who _isn’t_?” Rukia sighed. “Maybe we should just let Mikan keep her secrets. I want her to tell nice stories about me after I’m gone.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Renji replied.


	16. Hot Goss (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rukia contemplates what to say about her new boyfriend at SWA Show-and-Tell time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Anon asked:**
> 
> _I know it’s a long shot but I’m salivating over the idea of a Drabble featuring the Shinigami women’s association having a gossip fest (my fave setting besides anything RenRuki) about their latest sexcapades 😳 also Rukia having a moment where she says “it’s just so... big.” 🙈_
> 
> Thank you so much, Anon! I fell down a little on the gossip half of it, mostly because I don’t really have any ships for the other ladies in the SWA, so I just used this as an excuse to have Rukia think about how much she likes banging Renji. I almost had Nanao read off her list of this week’s conquests as blind items, and decided that was too weird, even for me. (I still maintain that Nanao pulls and also, she has maintains a list of sex idiots so that she doesn’t curse anyone)
> 
> Anyway, here you go. I officially had to bump the rating of my drabble collection up to “mature” for this, although it’s more suggestion than description.

Rukia fiddled with her teacup nervously, while Isane tumbled off on a long tangent on the best methods of sanitizing medical grade silicone. Next to her, a red-faced Kiyone stuffed rice crackers in her mouth and sank deeper in her seat. Usually, Rukia found Isane’s “fun facts!” to be rather interesting and informative, but Rukia’s mind was rather _occupied_ at the moment. 

Kusajishi Yachiru had many fine qualities. (Probably? Rukia wasn’t sure what she would say if called upon to list them) Punctuality was not one of them. There was nearly always at least 45 minutes between the time a Shinigami Women’s Association Meeting was _supposed_ to start, and when it actually _did._ No one seemed to mind all that much, though, because that time was devoted to _discussing things that were not appropriate to discuss in front of Yachiru_. 

Rukia had never had the opportunity to _contribute_ to these discussions before.

She certainly _could have_. She wasn’t a _virgin_. It’s just that she was a rather private individual, and none of her previous dalliances had been public knowledge, and she wasn’t the sort of person to prance in, yodeling “Guess who got _laaaaaaaaid_ this week!” (That was Rangiku. Rangiku got laid every week, but it never stopped her from announcing it.)

As it happened, Rukia had _also_ gotten laid this week. She had gotten laid _every night_ this week, actually, and the way Nanao and Rangiku kept eying her, she knew she was going to get asked about it, just as soon as Isane finished rambling. 

That’s what happened when you started dating a hot stack of red-headed sex appeal, she supposed. She had long maintained a stoic silence every time the “how far down do you think the tattoos go?” conversation reared its head, no matter how many pointed glares were directed her way. There was no way they were going to let this pass without comment.

It’s not like she could have kept it a secret, even if she had wanted to. Renji had been grinning like a doofus ever since they made it official. Rukia was naturally a more private person, but she couldn’t possibly bring herself to tell him to tone it down. He’d been so patient and had worked so hard to get Byakuya’s approval, she didn’t want him to think for a second that she wasn’t just as proud to be his partner as he was to be hers. And to be honest, he wasn’t the only one walking around with a stupid grin on his face these days.

It would be easy enough to demur, to say they were taking it slow. Everyone knew who her brother was, after all, and even if they didn’t _believe_ her, they would believe that a Kuchiki did not _kiss and tell_.

There was some part of her, though, that was _dying_ to talk about him. It was so easy to look at a guy like Renji and jump straight to asking how she liked getting her back blown out every night. But the fact was, he was so sweet and so considerate. They’d been friends for _ages_ , and it would have been easy to keep their lives as they were, just now with make-outs. But instead, he brought flowers to her office, and they’d had _three_ dress-up dates. His attempts at _fancy cooking_ had been a mixed bag, but she was really growing to appreciate eating by candlelight, and especially what it led to, more often than not.

Renji was _stupidly_ romantic, actually, and not in that fake way that guys did things sometimes because they thought it would get them some action. No, he did things the way he thought she _deserved_. Not because she was a Kuchiki, it’s just the way he had always thought of her, as a person who deserved nice things. The time he covered his futon in rose petals was a little over the top (she was still teasing him about finding rose petals in inconvenient places), but she could feel it in the way he talked to her when they made love, the way he touched her, almost reverently. He took her happiness and pleasure as seriously as he took all his duties, and carried out his work with the same diligence and, _ahem,_ attention to detail.

Which wasn’t to say they didn’t have fun! Despite her public, formal Kuchiki exterior, Rukia had _ideas_ and a collection of things made of _medical grade silicone_. She had been a little nervous broaching the topic at first, but it turned out that Renji was _up for adventure_. At a few of her suggestions, he had made a face like he was trying to conjugate a verb in French or possibly do trigonometry, but he had yet to tell her no. Not everything they tried turned out to be a home run, but there had been some _notable successes_.

And when you got right down to it, Renji was also pretty damn good at everything his appearance promised he was. Six feet, two inches of iron muscle wrapped in tattoos, hair that looked like fire and felt like silk, sharp teeth, sharper eyes, smoldering over the top of his flashy sunglasses. He was a romantic, sure, but he was also horny as hell, and she had learned the hard way that if she asked for it rough, she was _getting wrecked._

Rukia liked learning things the hard way.

She was in fact, reflecting on something she had learned the other day. Rukia had found physics class at Karakura High to be transcendentally boring, but the way Renji explained it gave her a newfound appreciation for _forces_ and _angles._ She was just contemplating his take on _pressure_ and _volume_ , when--

“Hey! Rukia!”

Kiyone’s sharp elbow jabbed into her rib, and Rukia’s tea sloshed over her hand. “Eh?” she grunted stupidly.

“Well?” Nanao was staring at her.

“What?” Rukia sputtered.

“Tiger Stripes! How is he in the sack?” Rangiku demanded.

“Very large,” Rukia responded automatically. She sat for a moment before horror began pouring through her veins like ice water.

“Called it,” Captain Soi Fon announced. Rukia hadn’t even seen her _come in_.

“We all called it,” Nanao waved a dismissive hand at her.

“MEETING TIME!” Yachiru’s squeaky voice rang through the room. “I think we should plan a trip to the ROLLER RINK!”

Rukia sat stock still, tea dripping through her fingers.

Rangiku shot her a wink, taking her seat.

“I have some good lube recommendations,” Isane offered cheerfully, patting her on the shoulder. “We should talk after the meeting.”

“Yeah,” said Rukia, stiffly. _“Let’s_.”


	17. Boyfriends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji and Shuuhei go on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over on Tumblr, I stupidly volunteered to write Renji-related drabbles upon request for his birthday. I got a million of 'em, and did my best to get as many done as I could, although admittedly, I still have a few to go. Anyway, that's why so many of the next few are birthday-themed. Enjoy! P.S. I always take requests, I am never not taking requests, it's just most of the time, I get them done in some sort of geological time frame.
> 
> _Anonymous asked: oooooo, Renji drabbles! you’ve mentioned before how you suspect that Renji and Shuuhei were a thing once upon a time... is it possible you can write a drabble where they’re on a date together? They’re only two of the hottest guys in the realm_

Abarai Renji was on a date.

He’d been on a few dates in his life, disastrous occasions when Momo had stuffed him in a yukata and sent him out with some fresh-scrubbed, extremely nice girl she had dredged up somewhere. The girls would talk and talk and steal glances at his tattoos and guilt would well up in his chest until he wanted to vomit and at the end, they would kiss him on the cheek and he would make it a point to never see them again.

Today, he was wearing yesterday’s uniform and wandering around a flea market in a weird, eclectic Seireitei neighborhood that he’d never been to before, watching Hisagi Shuuhei root through a bin of Living World automotive parts. His boyfriend, Hisagi Shuuhei.

Renji had slept with Shuuhei enough times that he no longer kept count. Shuuhei cooked him dinner at least twice a week and Renji would bring over beers or sake as his contribution. They usually sat next to each other at the bar, and he’d throw his arm around Shuuhei’s shoulders and Shuuhei would put a hand on his knee and it was very comfortable like that. Renji had started keeping a toothbrush at Shuuhei’s place, and then decided that he didn’t like sharing Shuuhei’s hair gel, and now probably three quarters of the shit Shuuhei’s bathroom was actually Renji’s. People would constantly call his phone asking for Shuuhei, because Shuuhei’s phone was perpetually out of battery, not that Renji’s was ever at more than a single digit’s worth of charge.

So last week, when Shuuhei asked him if he wanted to be boyfriends and Renji said “no” and then Shuuhei asked him which part of this he wanted to stop doing, he said “none of it” and then he was forced to concede that maybe he _did_ want to be boyfriends and now they were on a date.

It wasn’t so bad.

The weather was nice, and Renji was eating a taiyaki at 10am, which was, in his opinion, the very acme of gratuitous self-indulgence. Shuuhei had bought it for him because he said “he looked extra cute in the morning” and also, he’d found some money in his pocket that he forgot he had. 

“Oi, Renji, do you know what a spark plug actually looks like?” Shuuhei shouted from neck deep in his bucket of parts. It occurred to Renji that Shuuhei usually called him Abarai in public, but maybe first names were part of this new regime they were now operating under.

“I do not,” Renji admitted. “Maybe we could try to find one on the motorbike and take it out and bring it with us next time. You have that book with the diagrams, so we can probably figure out where to find it.”

“Ah, you’re so smart!” Shuuhei exclaimed and Renji blushed because no one ever said that to him, maybe not even once in his entire afterlife. 

The Guilt curled in Renji’s stomach, slow and throbbing, but it wasn’t choking, consuming, like it used to be. He had always thought the Guilt was for Rukia-- that he was betraying her, cheating on her, somehow. But he didn’t owe Rukia anything, to be honest, any more than she owed him. She was living a fantastic life somewhere, probably having pitted cherries placed directly in her mouth while someone else painted her fingernails. She sure wasn’t waiting around for him to show up and shout his undying devotion to her. In fact, he could practically imagine the horrified face she would make at him if she found out he’d been _pining_ over her. 

No, the Guilt was for the other girls, Momo’s pretty, doe-eyed friends that he was never, ever going to fall in love with, no matter how much they flipped their hair at him. His heart was burnt down to a cinder-- a black, dusty thing, too hot to touch, and in danger of falling to ash if someone were to try. You could only love for so hard, for so long without getting anything back. Then, you started burning yourself up instead, from the inside out.

That had been a long time ago, though. Even if he still missed Rukia like hell, there were other good parts of life these days. His fights with Ikkaku were getting pretty evenly matched these days. He even got to spar with the Kenpachi once in a while, which was both exciting and flattering and then, two minutes later, deeply, deeply painful. He liked being Sixth Seat, not just because it paid well, but because he liked working with the unseated guys, liked teaching them how to be real swordsmen, not just loud goons. After years of Yumichika making him rub flowery smelling stuff on his face and in his hair, there was a pretty good looking guy staring back at him when he looked in the mirror. A guy who felt good about looking good, a guy who now knew how to pick out his own flowery smelling face goops.

“I think,” he had explained to Shuuhei, the only person to whom he had ever explained the burnt-up cinder heart theory, “that there might be a little chunk of it, like the size of my thumb, that’s not all the way toasted, just maybe really tough and chewy, like beef jerky.”

And Shuuhei had looked him in the eyes, real soft-like, and said, “Pal, your tiny little dried up beef jerky heart probably has more love in it than most people have in their entire body. You have been up front with me, which I respect a lot, and I’m willing to take my chances anyway.”

Shuuhei currently was surveying the street like an explorer deciding which path he wanted to take through a jungle. “You wanna go see the leatherwork stall? They had some sweet wrist cuffs last time, really gorgeous tooling.”

“Why do you always want to look at stuff that you can’t afford?” Renji groused. He’d been trying to start saving again, since he got his raise, something he hadn’t done since he was at the Fifth. He couldn’t decide which it was that was making him more grouchy-- having to put limits on his expenses, or how little was actually piling up in the bank account he’d opened. He wasn’t even sure what he was saving for. It just seemed like money was something a functional adult should have. He wasn’t exactly sure he would classify himself as a functional adult, but it was something to _aspire_ to.

Shuuhei stretched, and rested his hands on the back of his head. “Sometimes it’s fun to just browse,” he shrugged. “You’re so _practical_ , Renji, you should let your imagination out a little, once in a while.”

Renji’s face must have done something stupid, because Shuuhei quickly followed up with, “Things don’t always have to pan out to be worth dreaming of. C’mon, I know you’re dead jealous of those flashy goggles Iba’s been wearing lately.”

Renji wrinkled his nose because he _was_. Iba’s new shades were cool as fuck and expensive as fuck, too. Iba had offered to let him try them on, and Renji had said no because he was almost positive he would look better in them than Iba and he didn’t want to have to go around thinking about that all the time.

“We can go to the used book place instead,” Shuuhei offered. Shuuhei was really good at hopping off subjects that Renji was sensitive about. He’d probably been doing it for a while, but Renji had just gotten around to noticing. “It’s all shitty, falling-apart paperbacks, but they’re pretty cheap, plus I have a bunch of credit, because I trade mine in when I’m done with ‘em.”

“Ah, that sounds nice,” Renji, who had a great love for shitty, falling-apart paperbacks, replied. “But let’s swing by the leather place, too.” He crumpled up the paper from his taiyaki and threw it in a high arc into a nearby wastecan. Then wiped his hand on his hakama, and held out his hand, flexing his fingers obnoxiously. “I bet I would look good in wrist cuffs.”

Shuuhei grinned and immediately lowered his hands from his head so he could grab Renji’s. “You would look _so good_ in wrist cuffs.”

And off they went, together.


	18. The Special Assignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji is a man with a very specific set of skills. The Kenpachi knows this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: Can we get some drabbles on Renji’s time with Squad 11 especially his interactions with Kenpachi and Yachiru? Obviously shenanigans with Ikkaku and Yumichika are welcome!_
> 
> I do a lot of shenanigans with Ikkaku and Yumichika, but not usually Kenpachi and Yachiru, so let’s try that for a change!

“I have a Special Assignment for you, Abarai,” the Kenpachi grumbled.

Special Assignments could be anything, really. Running around dive bars in the upper Rukon, stapling up posters to advertise their next Recruitment Brawl. Delivering blotchy hand-written notes to Captain Unohana. Helping Zaraki set up elaborate obstacle courses that would then necessitate another Recruitment Brawl. The majority of Renji’s Special Assignments involved helping the captain get somewhere he needed to go. Zaraki was very good at getting lost, but Renji was exceptionally good at finding places. This worked out rather nicely, because there was almost always something interesting to fight in the places that Zaraki wanted to go, and the more Zaraki saw Renji fight, the more willing he was to bring him along.

“We goin’ somewhere, sir?” Renji asked hopefully.

Zaraki scratched his ass pensively. “Not today. C’mon in, I don’t wanna talk about it outside.” He let the way into what was occasionally jokingly referred to as his “office.” It was the place where Zaraki hung out and took naps during the day, in case anyone wanted to find him for fighting purposes. “Chisaka had to go to the Living World last week,” Zaraki explained, rummaging around in his kosode and pulling out a well-thumbed magazine. “She brought Yachiru back some manga she thought she would like.”

“That was nice,” Renji commented carefully. Giving gifts to Yachiru was nearly always an exercise in “no good deed goes unpunished.”

“Yeah, it went over real good,” Zaraki grumbled. “She liked it so much, she wants her hair done up like the kid in it.” He thrust the crumpled booklet at Renji. It was a girls’ manga, the kind with a lot of sparkles and girls in sailor suits. Zaraki poked a gnarled finger at a picture of a little girl with pink hair, twisted up into two little buns, with fluffy ponytails trailing down from them.

Renji rolled his eyes up towards his captain. “What the actual fuck, sir? Isn’t this more Ayasegawa’s department?” Zaraki didn’t like to be called ‘sir’ unless there was a profanity somewhere in the same sentence.

“Dammit, Abarai, I know you’ve let Ayasegawa do your hair. It takes him four fucking hours and he screams at you if you squirm. Yachiru can’t sit through that shit.”

Renji made an uncomfortable face. “ _Your_ hair always looks great, can’t you--”

“I _tried_! She doesn’t want me to use any gel, says it needs to be ‘fluffy’. How the hell are you supposed to do a hairstyle without gel, answer me that!”

“What makes you think I can do anything?” Renji finally whined.

“Look, I started at the top. Madarame ain’t got any hair, and Iba might as well not. You’re pretty fast, and you’re probably strong enough to hold her down, and at least you know how a ponytail holder works.” Zaraki sucked his teeth. “If you do it, I’ll fight you later.”

“Really?” Renji asked, his eyebrows shooting up. Zaraki didn’t usually feel that anyone below Ikkaku merited his time, and Renji jumped at every opportunity to convince him otherwise.

“Yeah, sure.” Zaraki flung open the door to the room where Yachiru sat, scowling, surrounded by an assortment of ribbons and barrettes. “I got help.”

“Wrong Way doesn’t know how to do hair!” Yachiru shouted.

Renji and Yachiru had an ongoing philosophical disagreement about the geography of the Seireitei. Yachiru had zero legs to stand on in this argument, but also, she was the one who came up with nicknames.

“He _has_ a lot of hair,” Zaraki countered.

“That’s boy hair!” Yachiru returned. “It doesn’t count!”

“I… have done girl hair before,” Renji admitted, somewhat painedly. “Hair is hair!” He almost yelled “Gender is a construct!” because he had been reading some of the books Iba’s mom kept leaving in their room, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to explain what that meant. At this point, he just wanted to get this over with, preferably without getting kicked in the nose, which tended to happen a lot around Yachiru. “If you let me try, I’ll let you do my hair.”

Yachiru’s eyes went wide. “ _Really_?”

“You can’t cut it, but sure. Whatever.”

Zaraki was looking over at him with something that might have been respect. “Do you know what you’re doing, you crazy bastard?” he mumbled.

“Absolutely not,” Renji replied.

* * *

“They’re _uneven_ , is all I’m saying,” Yumichika sniffed.

“I _love_ them, he put _extra ribbons_ on!” Yachiru howled, swinging her sheathed sword at Yumichika, who deftly ducked. The ribbons swung delightfully around the sides of her head.

“I’m honestly surprised there were any ribbons left,” Iba commented dryly.

“You can _shut it, fucko!_ ” Renji yelled. His hair was styled rather similarly to his vice-captain’s, except that his was in three (rather lumpy) buns, and his ponytails trailed more majestically. The curling iron had been a terrible idea overall, but the big, loopy curls at the ends of both Renji’s and Yachiru’s hair had definitely been worth all the burns.

Ikkaku rubbed his own bald pate. “I kinda like that look on him. 100 kan says it helps him fight better.”

“You’re on,” Iba agreed.

“What’s the hold up?!” Zaraki roared.

“Here I come!” Renji bellowed.

“Ganbatte, Wrong Way!” Yachiru cheered.

There was a loud crunch.

Ikkaku handed over the 100 kan. “It was worth a try.”


	19. Paternity Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Squad 6 runs like clockwork, even when its Vice-Captain is needed elsewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _anonymous asked: can you please do a Renji birthday Drabble where Ichika learns to say “daddy” (or whatever, I’m not so knowledgeable about babies lol) in front of him_

“I am not sure,” Byakuya said firmly, “about the use of kidou to create artificial barriers during the combat simulation.”

“It’s the same as the cones Vice-Captain always uses, except people won’t jump over them! Sir!” 

“Abarai, tell Yuki to use the cones.”

Renji, who had been edging toward the door, sighed. “The kidou are a great idea, sir. And 3rd Seat Yuki did a great job designing the whole course. You’ll have a great time. Ow.” 

A stuffed anthropomorphic seaweed had smacked him in the face. 

“Waaaaah!”

“Shh, Daddy is talking to Uncle Byakuya,” Renji murmured, jogging his one-year old daughter in his arms, hoping the motion would pacify her.

It was Rukia’s first day back at work. It was Rukia’s first _half-day_ back at work. She had been practically gleeful when she arrived at the Squad Six offices to pass off Ichika. Her hair, which was down to her shoulders now, was wrapped up in a tidy little bun, and her eyes were edged with sharp, black liner. Renji did not remember his wife bothering with eyeliner before she had a baby, but he refused to rib her about being excited to be back. Rukia loved her baby, but staying at home didn’t suit her. Renji was honestly looking forward to her getting back to what she loved almost as much as she was.

Renji had a suspicion, which he had voiced to exactly no one, that _he_ was going to enjoy going to part time, which was supposed to have started fifteen minutes ago. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his job. He loved his job. He also loved his daughter and he was really looking forward to spending more time with her. That is, if he could ever manage to get out of his division office.

The office door slid open, and 4th Seat Kuchiki Choei’s head popped in. “Hey Captain-- oh, is Vice-Captain still here? Hey, Vice-Captain! Do we still have that Hollow dummy? The one that looks like a giant spider?”

“It’s in the attic storage of Barracks #2,” Rikichi announced.

“Oh, great, thanks!”

“Wait, what do you want it for?” Renji yelped, as Ichika tugged his bandana down over his eyes.

“Hey, Yuki, am I leading the Red Team or the Blue Team in the combat sim this afternoon?” Choei asked conversationally. 

“You’ve got the Blue Team.”

“I thought I was leading the Blue Team,” Byakuya frowned. 

“Aah! Aah! Aaaaaaaah!” Ichika sang.

“Which one of us gets the mess hall in our initial territory?”

“The mess hall is _neutral_ , after what happened last time!”

“I think you guys have this under control, I’m just gonna--” Renji attempted to extricate himself.

“Abarai, which team is Yuki usually on?” Byakuya stopped him in his tracks. “I feel like I should get an additional officer to make up for his absence.”

“He’s sitting right there, you could ask _him_ ,” Renji pointed out. “Look, it’s one-fifteen, and Ich--”

“I rearranged all the teams,” Rikichi announced. “It’ll be fun.”

“Oooh, who did I get?” Choei asked, striding into the office. “Hey, Ichika!”

Ichika stopped trying to wrench herself out of Renji’s arms for a brief moment in order to wave one chubby hand at Choei, who cheesed back at her.

“How could you rearrange the teams?” Byakuya protested. “Abarai, did you look at his teams? Are they fairly balanced?”

“I didn’t,” Renji admitted. “But what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Da,” Ichika said, patting his face. “Da.”

Eighth Seat Shirogane’s head suddenly popped into the office. “There’s an inspector here from the First. Does anyone know where Vice-Captain left the blueprints for the new barracks? Oh, Vice-Captain, you’re still here!”

“I have them!” Rikichi called. “The inspector was supposed to come at two!”

“The First always calls early,” Byakuya noted, his eyes narrowed. “They hope to catch us unawares.”

“Hey, Captain, I’ll trade you Extra Large Gotou for Taniguchi!”

Renji cringed. He regretted ever telling Choei about Squad 11 nicknames.

“I’m not unawares! I have those blueprints right here!”

“DA-DEE!”

The entire office went dead silent, and five pairs of eyes swiveled over to where Ichika sat tall in her father’s arms, looking very proud of herself. “Daddy!” she announced again, and then jabbed one tiny finger at the doorway, scowling for punctuation.

“Awwww!” Mihane gasped.

“That was _so cute_ ,” Choei added.

“Was that…” Byakuya started slowly. “Has she…”

“That was the first time,” Renji managed, his voice going a bit wobbly.

“Good job, Ichika!” Rikichi cheered.

Ichika beamed. 

“What are you doing, Lieutenant?” Byakuya barked, suddenly. “You were supposed to be off at one! Begone! Do you think we cannot handle ourselves without your benighted presence?”

“Just gettin’ outta here!” Renji agreed, slinging Ichika’s diaper bag over his shoulder, to a chorus of “See you tomorrow, Vice-Captain!” and “Bye-bye, Ichika!”

“Good job, kid,” Renji congratulated as they stepped out into the mid-day sunshine. “So, what are we gonna do today?”

Ichika regarded him for a moment and declared “Daddy!”

Renji nodded firmly. “You’re in luck. A whole afternoon with Daddy it is.”


	20. Terrible Insults, Free of Charge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lonely Renji pesters Momo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> freeoftheflash (zabiume here on AO3) asked: I loved whatever snippets you gave of Renji and Momo in the Academy (and Momo's cookies!) I'd love to see more of Renji+Momo, or even Renji+Ichigo but really any Renji you write would be God Tier Renji so I await his birthday in eager anticipation!!
> 
> HERE IS SOME ACADEMY ERA RENJI+MOMO FOR YOUUUUUUU

Momo was concentrating so deeply on her homework for Mathematics of Interdimensional Travel that she didn’t even hear anything before her roommate, Kajita, cocked her head and said, “Do you hear… something? A tapping?”

The window was directly over Momo’s desk, and when she looked up from her page of calculations, it was directly into the face of her good friend and classmate, Abarai Renji, smushed up against the glass. “Lemme in,” he mouthed.

Momo’s face abruptly turned scarlet and her tongue sputtered uselessly. “Maybe someone’s at the door!” she finally managed, jumping up and trying to block the window with her body.

“I don’t think so,” Kajita replied, scratching her nose with her writing brush. 

“That reminds me!” Momo yelped. “Teramoto said she had something to tell you! She lives on the first floor, I think?”

Kajita made a half-hearted mark on her paper. “I’ll see her tomorrow. We have hohou together in the morning.”

“Hmm, it was something to do with...someone named Kenmotsu?” As if Momo could possibly be oblivious to Kajita’s enormous crush on Kenmotsu Sawao, a third year who used far too much hair product. 

Kajita sprang to her feet. “That sounds important, I should go check in with her!”

As the shoji slammed shut behind Kajita, Momo frantically spun and opened the window. “What are you _doing_?” she hissed, as Renji tumbled into the room. 

“I dunno. I got lonely,” he shrugged. “Whatchu up to?”

“You got-- where’s Izuru?” Momo demanded. It would be just like Renji to misplace his own roommate.

“Oh, I mean, he’s there,” Renji frowned, scratching the back of his neck. “In our room. I got restless and it’s a nice night out and I wanted to take a walk and he didn’t want to and then I guess I just found my way over to this side of campus and thought I’d swing by and say hi.”

Of course Izuru didn’t want to go for a walk, it was past curfew. They were _supposed_ to be in their dorms. Not that things like curfew concerned Abarai, who had a somewhat uncanny ability to disappear into the shadows, in spite of the fact that he comprised nearly six feet worth of bright red hair and bony elbows.

Momo started to open her mouth to scold him, when it hit her what Abarai had _actually_ been doing. She wondered if he had done it consciously, or if he had really intended to just get some air, and his feet had wandered naturally over to the girls’ dormitory. She wondered how long he had stared at Rukia’s old window on the second floor before coming up here instead.

“As long as you’re here, help me with this,” Momo said instead, shoving at her homework. “I’m doing travel time estimates, and you’re supposed to get the same answer for #12 and #13, but it always comes out longer through the dangai than through the senkaimon. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Renji peered owlishly at her homework, wrinkling his nose. “You know I’m no good at this stuff.”

He always said that.

“Well, what good are you, then?” Momo sniffed, and Renji cracked a grin. 

When they first met, Renji had scowled almost all the time. The only time he ever grinned was when he was around his best friend, a girl called Rukia. She was from his home district, they had come up to Shin’ou together. As Renji got to know Momo and their other friend, Izuru, as he started to feel comfortable here at school, they had started to get a few grins, too. Renji had wonderful grins, all big, pointy teeth and mischief. Momo and Izuru competed, a little, sometimes, to see who could get more Renji grins. They didn’t compete against Rukia. That would have been no contest. 

Then, Rukia had been adopted, mysteriously whisked away to go live with the elegant Kuchiki family, and it had been back to scowls, with the occasional wistful, thousand yard stare thrown in. Momo hated the wistful thousand-yard stares. It had been months now, and they had started to get the occasional grin back now and again, but sometimes they also got _this_.

“I don’t have any treats from Grandma right now, I’m sorry,” Momo blurted out. “I stress ate the last of them before the Kidou Theory midterm.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Renji shrugged. “They were yours anyway.”

Momo fidgeted. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him here. Renji was her friend, and he was cute, and it gave her a rather fluttery feeling in her stomach that he’d taken the trouble to come see her, but her roommate might be back any minute and also, she wasn’t sure what to _do_ with him. “Renji,” she finally said. “When you used to visit Rukia, what did you _do_?”

Renji stared at her blankly. “When I used to… aw, jeez, I mean, you think this…? I mean, I was just walking by, and… uh…”

“It’s okay to miss her,” Momo replied, rather bluntly. 

“It’s been four months,” Renji pointed out in a way that indicated he knew the exact time, down to the minutes and seconds.

“It’s still okay to miss her,” Momo repeated.

Renji chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. “I dunno. Usually, we just shot the shit, I guess. Just liked to see her a little every day and we weren’t in any of the same classes, y’know. See if she’d come up with any new insulting nicknames for me.”

Momo frowned thoughtfully. “Do you want me to call you by an insulting nickname?”

Renji gave a big snort through his nose, and his face cracked into a huge, genuine grin. “Nothin’ personal, Momo, but--”

“You noodle-headed dingdong.”

A huge guffaw burst out of Renji’s mouth.

“Treelegs. Stripey head frowny-face.”

Renji was doubled over now, wheezing with laughter.

“Porridge pants.”

“Stop-- stop,” Renji gasped. “You are going to kill me.” He took a deep breath and managed to straighten up.

“Butts-for-brains.”

That time, they both lost it. Renji had to lean on her desk to keep from falling over. Finally, he wiped his eyes and shook his head. “How are your insults so terrible and also so _cutting_?”

“I have a younger brother,” Momo intoned. “I learned it from him.”

Renji rubbed one eye with the heel of his hand. “I’m sorry I bothered you, Mo. I was just walking around and got feeling real down and I wanted to see a friendly face. Thanks. I really needed this.”

Momo shrugged. “Look, my roommate’s probably gonna be back any minute.”

Renji nodded. “I understand.”

“She’s in a singing group that meets on Tuesday evenings. Come back then. We can shoot some shit. I’ll work on better insults between now and then.”

“Shitty insults only,” Renji demanded, ruffling her hair with one of his big paws, before climbing back out the window. “And you reversed the sign on the time dilation term, that’s why your dangai numbers are coming out too big.”

“Teramoto _forgot_ what she was going to tell me, can you believe it?” Kajita announced a few minutes later, when she returned. “Why’s the window open?” 

“Just thought it was a nice night out,” Momo replied, as her numbers came out perfectly.


	21. Many Happy Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji contemplates two perfect birthdays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _anonymous asked: can you please do a drabble where Renji is remembering his wild squad 11 style birthday party but then at the end once he finishes his flashback he’s celebrating his birthday in the present with Rukia and Ichika_

“This is number 10,” Zaraki informed Renji, beady, bloodshot eye staring into beady, bloodshot eyes. “Not everyone makes it to ten.”

“I would stop after one,” Yumichika made his frowniest frowny face.

“You’re smarter than the rest of us,” Iba replied.

“I am ready,” Renji confirmed, gripping his cup as the Kenpachi filled it with sake from his “special stash.” 

Renji had drunk a lot of horrible sake in his time. As it turned out, rotgut from deep North Rukongai had an entirely different flavor profile than the pigswill of his Southern youth. It hit you in the nose, rather than the ears, smelled more like a bog than an armpit, and the unpleasant aftereffects tended to come out the opposite end. On the other hand, bad sake was bad sake, and it was hardly a birthday without it.

“Kampei!” Renji and Zaraki shouted together, and down the hatch it went. Cheers went up around them.

“You’re a good man, Abarai,” Zaraki declared, standing up, and clapping him on the shoulder. “Happy birthday. I’m out. Yachiru! It’s bedtime!”

“Thank you, sir!” Renji hollered, far too loud, as Yachiru abandoned the bowl of wasabi peas she had been mainlining to hop onto the Kenpachi’s shoulder.

“Night, sir!” various members of Squad 11 chorused. 

Zaraki was a good captain, Renji mused to himself, drunkenly. He showed up, drank enough to show that he cared, but then he took off, because no one really wanted to get birthday-wasted in front of their boss. 

Birthdays at the Eleventh were very thoughtful affairs, in Renji’s opinion. First thing in the morning, you got to have a big public fight with anyone from the squad. Seated officers could choose to fight the big man, which, of course, he had. This year, he had made it 52 seconds, and was feeling very pleased with himself. He was given the rest of the morning off to nap, and then he got to run newb drills all afternoon. And now it was half past booze o’clock. A perfect end to a perfect day.

“I got you your favorite. Happy birthday, loser,” Iba announced, sliding a fizzy blue concoction bristling with fruit on toothpicks down the table.

“Maybe you should give him a chance to catch his breath,” Big Maki suggested. “Zaraki shots are no joke.”

“This _is_ catching my breath,” Renji replied, fishing out a pineapple chunk and eating it. Iba always got him this tropical shit as a joke, and Renji always drank them, absolutely stonefaced, as though curly straws and paper umbrellas were just standard issue drinking equipment. The joke was on Iba, to be honest, these damn things were _delicious._

“Where is the _birthday booooooy?_ ” a musical voice trilled. 

Renji’s head whipped around, which immediately made him very dizzy. He waved his hand enthusiastically.

“Don’t get up,” Yumichika warned, standing and beckoning more staidly. “He’s over here! He’s pretty well soaked already.”

Suddenly, there was a shapely pair of arms wrapped around Renji’s neck, and a more sensuous than necessary kiss pressed into his cheek. “Happy birthday, cute stuff!” Matsumoto said throatily. “That’s a fancy drink, can I have some?”

“Get your own!” Renji crowed cheerfully. 

“Ha, ha, I would never,” the lieutenant of the Tenth laughed, sliding into the seat next to him, and then stealing a cherry out of his glass.

“I would not have guessed a bar called ‘Five Fingers of Death’ would serve fruity drinks,” Hisagi Shuuhei, Third Seat of the Ninth added, plopping down on Renji’s other side.

“Shuuhei!” Renji exclaimed. 

Ever since he got promoted to Sixth Seat, Yumichika had been trying to get Renji involved in his larger social circle, which mostly orbited around Matsumoto. The fact that it included Hisagi, whom he had known in school, had been a pleasant surprise. He definitely remembered looking up to Hisagi in his youth, but since they had reconnected, Renji was continually struck with how _cool_ the guy was, and also how _good-looking_.

“Well?” Renji demanded from Shuuhei, with a boldness that came from having enough sake in his gut to pickle a daikon. “Matsumoto paid up. Where’s my birthday present?”

Shuuhei laughed and planted a kiss on his other cheek, before fishing something that might have been a chunk of mango out of the blue monstrosity. 

Renji felt warm and happy. “Better buy me another drink, Iba,” he hooted, “Everyone’s stealing mine.”

“Buy your own, asshole” Iba rejoined merrily.

“That wasn’t your birthday present, by the way,” Matsumoto replied suggestively.

“Oh?” Renji asked, trying to raise an eyebrow, except that he couldn’t feel most of his face.

“A little bird,” Matsomoto went on, “who went to school with you, told me about a trick you used to do at the bar.”

Renji wracked his brains. He hadn’t done a lot of drinking in his school days, and certainly not a lot of drinking in bars, mostly because he’d been broke all the time.

“It wasn’t at the bar, it was at the gym,” Shuuhei clarified.

Realization hit Renji like a dropped free weight. He slammed his hands palm down on the tabletop excitedly. “Is it _Bench Your Friends_ day?”

“You’re not benching me,” Yumichika immediately declared.

“What’s Bench Your Friends day?” Ikkaku demanded, intrigued.

“Bench press is a very efficient way to work your entire upper body,” Renji explained with the self-perceived gravitas that comes with being sloshed out of your gourd. “Free weights are a better way to build muscle, ‘cause you are responsible for your own balance and stability. Next step up from that, control-wise, is to bench press a person, especially if that person doesn’t particularly want to be bench-pressed.”

“Why would you let him do this to you?” Yumichika grimaced.

“Well, I really just want to see him bench press someone else, but I wouldn’t mind,” Matsumoto mused. “I think I would look very sexy being used as exercise equipment.”

“If you can bench Hisagi, I’ll let you try to bench me!” Ikkaku roared.

“I did not volunteer,” Hisagi pointed out.

“DEAL!” Renji bellowed. 

🎉 🍹 💪

“UP!” 

Renji blinked, slowly returning to present day reality. “Huh?”

“Pick me _UP_ , Daddy! I want to do a _high dive_!”

“Alright, alright.” 

It took two tries to get up from the lawn chair, but he made it. He took a long stretch, and made a show of flexing his upper arms for his daughter, who was completely unimpressed. Finally, he scooped her up and held her by the hips over his head. “You ready?”

“I am ready!” she announced, holding her arms over her head in a diving position.

“Here we go!” Renji yelled, and lowered her slowly into the rubber inflatable pool that was set up in their backyard. Ichika made a variety of poses on the way down, pointing her toes, making wide, elegant gestures with her arms. “Perfect 10,” Renji announced, when she was sitting in the pool, spitting water in a little fountain. “Do you want to go again?”

“I want to run around.”

“Go, then.” 

Ichika leapt to her feet and went tearing, pell-mell around the yard again. Renji flopped back into his lawn chair and plopped his feet back in the pool.

It had been brutally hot all day, but the heat was finally starting to subside as evening came on. Akon had made the pool and brought it over last week for Nemu and Ichika to play in, because evidently, every time he set one up over at the 12th, it got “repurposed.” Renji did not want to know the details. Renji was a big fan of the pool. Ichika had been nominally playing in it all afternoon. Mostly, she was running around in her bathing suit, shouting. Occasionally, she would hurl herself into it, thoroughly splashing her father, and then run off again.

Rukia stepped onto the porch, sliding the door closed behind her with one foot. She’d changed from her shihakushou into a Living World style sundress that left her arms and legs bare. Even after a long day at work, she looked cheerful and gorgeous. Renji smiled fondly at her. After a long afternoon of chasing his toddler around, he was sure he looked like hot, damp dogshit.

Rukia made her way over to him, nimbly dodging Ichika as she serpentined her way around the yard. She held out a glass containing a pale green liquid. It was practically radiating cold. “I have made you,” she said, as Renji took it gratefully from her hand, “a _margarita._ I followed Uryuu’s directions very carefully and then doubled the alcohol.”

Renji took a sip as Rukia flopped into the lawn chair next to his, and slid her feet gracefully into the pool. “It’s perfect,” he declared. “You’re a genius.”

“Happy birthday,” Rukia said, tipping her head over onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry it wasn’t much.”

“What are you talking about?” Renji grunted. “I got to yell at my squad for 2 hours this morning, like I like. I spent all afternoon digging up worms with my amazing kid, and then my beautiful wife brought me take-out, so I didn’t have to cook. I am way too tired to actually go to the bar, but I don’t have to, because you brought this right to me, here, in my luxury cabana. Another one or two of these and I am definitely gonna be lights out. Can’t think of a more perfect birthday, to be honest.”

“Hmm, if we can get Ichika to go to sleep, I had some ideas for some things that could happen between margaritas number two and three.”

“Oh, really?” Renji asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

Suddenly, Ichika crashed into his lap, wet, with bits of grass plastered up her legs. “DADDY!” she yelled. “Is it dessert time! Can we eat the taiyaki Mama brought home now?”

“The _what_ Mama brought home?” he asked, faking surprise.

“Do you remember what a _secret_ is?” Rukia reminded her daughter. “We talked about it?”

“But it’s time to eat them, so they aren’t secret anymore!”

“Yeah, Rukia, obviously,” Renji managed with a perfectly straight face.

“I would call you a traitor, but it’s your birthday, so I will go get you your fish waffles,” Rukia replied, shoving her drink into his free hand and pressing a kiss into the side of his temple.

“I LOVE TAIYAKI!” Ichika sang at the top of her lungs. “I WISH EVERYDAY WAS DADDY’S BIRTHDAAAAAAAAY!”

Renji admired the way his wife’s rear end swayed as she headed back into the house. He contemplated whether he could still drink out of two glasses at the same time, another old bar trick he was once modestly famous for. “Me, too, kid,” he agreed. “Me, too.”


	22. Discretion and Propriety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are Lieutenants Abarai and Kuchiki... dating? No! Never! Of course not!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Anonymous asked:_  
>  In WDKALY, literally no one - sans Orihime - was surprised about RenRuki announcing their engagement. I would love to read a fic where they think they're being subtle and sneaky about their PDA around Soul Society but in reality, they were... not.
> 
> This one was a lot of fun. 😈

Hanatarou checked his patient list, and sighed. He liked Lieutenant Abarai perfectly well as a _friend_ , but as a patient, he was _awful_. On one hand, at least he bothered even _coming_ to the Fourth, unlike most alumni of the Eleventh. On the other, Hanatarou wasn’t sure why the man even bothered, since he always tried to leave again, immediately, and never followed his care instructions, unless--

“Lieutenant Abarai, may I come in?” he called.

“It’s your damn hospital,” Abarai’s gruff voice called back.

“We don’t like to surprise our patients, especially the ones who have concussions,” Hanatarou explained cheerfully, stepping around the divider. “Oh, Rukia’s here!” _That_ ought to make this go a lot easier.

“My brother asked me to stop in and see how this dingus was doing,” Rukia excused. “I was just leaving.”

“Please stay,” Hanatarou begged. “You’re the only one who can get him to take his pain medicine.”

Abarai made an offended face. “Now, see here--” he blustered.

“Really?” Rukia hooted. “This mother hen?”

“Is he?” Hanatarou asked mildly.

“You mean you’ve never seen him fussing over…” Rukia trailed off, “his subordinates?” she finished quickly.

Hanatarou scratched his head. “I suppose there was the time you brought Rikichi in with that cut on his hand.”

“I had told him to rub some dirt on it,” Renji muttered, “and the dummy mashed a bunch of gravel into it. I felt bad so I dragged him over here. Man, that kid can bawl.”

“Who doesn’t know how to rub dirt on a wound?” Rukia scoffed.

“The Fourth does not encourage ‘rubbing dirt’ on wounds,” Hanatarou disclaimed patiently. “Speaking of which, you have a concussion, Lieutenant Abarai. I stopped the internal bleeding, but you need to take one of these pills every eight hours for the next 48. You must get some rest. You can stay here at the Fourth, or, if you have someone who can come stay with you and check in with you every few hours to make sure you don’t slip into a coma, you may go home.”

Renji swung his legs over the side of his bed. “I will go home.”

“Who is going to check on you?” Hanatarou asked, his pen poised over his clipboard. “I will need their contact information.” His eyes slid over to Rukia.

Rukia held up her hands defensively. “Whoa! I’m only here because my brother wanted to know if his adjutant had succumbed to his wounds or not, I’m not--”

“You do realize that Captain Kuchiki is the one who gave him the concussion, right?” Hanatarou pointed out. “He brought Renji in.”

“Why did you let me go on like that?” Rukia hissed, jabbing Renji in the ribs with an elbow.

“Write down Rikichi,” Renji announced. “You know his number.”

Hanatarou raised one eyebrow. “I _am_ going to check in on you, you know. Do you want me to call Rikichi in eight hours?”

Renji’s eyes slid over to the side. “Call Rukia,” he mumbled. “But write down Rikichi.”

* * *

Sentarou carefully made his way down the hall, trying really, really hard not to spill the huge stack of papers in his arms. At some point, there had been a tiny hope in his heart that Captain Kyouraku’s promotion might mean a slight reduction in the level of bureaucracy, but his fantasies had failed to account for Lieutenant Ise accompanying him to the First. Poor Lieutenant Kuchiki was handling both the captain’s and vice-captain’s paperwork, she was probably exhausted.

Usually, Rukia kept her door open, but it was closed at the moment. Sentarou wondered if she was taking a nap (not that he would blame her), so he knocked softly on the doorframe. There was a scuffle and a thump, and then an “Er, yes?”

“Lieutenant, it’s 3rd Seat Kotsubaki! Got some paperwork for you! Is now a good time?”

“Ahh… just a sec...”

There was more scuffling, the creak of the window that always stuck a bit in its frame, and a louder thump. Rukia suddenly threw the shoji open, looking a bit wild-eyed, with a too-big grin on her face. “Wow! That’s a lot of paperwork,” she managed, her smile turning stiff.

“Here, I’ll bring it right in,” Sentarou said, and Rukia scampered back toward her desk, and kicked something under it.

Sentarou started laying the paperwork out in piles. “Some of these forms are new. Apparently, Lieutenant Ise is getting creative.”

“Urgh,” Rukia groaned.

“Here are the templates for the big damage assessments we’re supposed to turn in next month,” Sentarou said, taking a smaller pile off the top, and setting it aside. “Here is a clearance application you need to fill out, so you can be included in captains’ briefings. Here are the change of address forms that we need to pass out to anyone who is in temporary housing.”

Rukia ran her fingers through her hair and made a horrified face. Her hair was pretty mussed up on one side, she’d probably been doing that all morning. Sentarou couldn’t imagine all the bullshit she must be putting up with these days.

“Ha ha, that’s the face I made, too,” Sentarou laughed. “Let me know which of these you want me to take care of.”

“Well, you can pass out the housing forms, but the rest are really my responsibility.”

“You just seem pretty overwhelmed, that’s all. You’re only one person,” Sentarou pointed out reasonably. “And you don’t need to fake it in front of me, you know. You’re hardly the only captain who takes naps in their office.”

“Nap…?” Rukia looked confused for a moment, then slapped herself in the forehead. “Oh, gosh, yes, you caught me!”

Sentarou chuckled, and pulled the next chunk of papers off the stack. “Resumes for transfer applicants. There are more than I expected… probably people hoping to make seats, I suppose.” He was running out of space on Rukia’s desk, and he had to take a few steps over to find an empty spot. He stepped on something soft and bent down to pick it up. “You must have dropped your...” he said, examining the thing in his hand. “...Bandana? Is that what this is?”

Rukia snatched it out of his hand and without looking at it, tossed it out the window. “Don’t know how that got in here, never seen it before in my life.”

A hand shot up and grabbed the bandana out of the air before disappearing again.

Sentarou gave Rukia a very judgemental look. “I was only going to say it looked an awful lot like the one Lieutenant Abarai wears. You know. Your friend. Who leaves crap lying around your office all the time.”

“Oh. Maybe,” Rukia shrugged.

“I do not!” a voice wafted in from outside.

* * *

“You headed back?” Momo asked Renji as they were leaving the Lieutenants’ meeting. “We need to talk about that joint exercise our squads doing next week.”

“Oh, right, I forgot about that,” Renji replied absently, which was a little odd, since he had dropped off a three inch binder full of “some ideas I had” just the day before. “Are you busy this afternoon? If I can come over this afternoon, I’ll bring you a coffee.”

Momo frowned. The new Living World coffee place Renji was into was all the way down by the Thirteenth. Also, he had a cup of coffee sitting right in front of him. “I mean, we’re walking back,” she pressed. “Can’t we just talk about it now?”

“I gotta talk to Rukia about some, um, Kuchiki stuff,” Renji jerked a thumb at Rukia, who was sitting next to him.

Rukia took a sip of Renji’s coffee and regarded Momo with half-lidded eyes. “Yeah,” she said when she had finished “Kuchiki stuff.”

“I want a caramel latte _and_ a scone,” Momo jabbed a finger at Renji.

His face brightened immediately. “Deal! See you then!”

Momo regarded him with narrowed eyes, before calling, “Hey, Izuru, Shuuhei, wait up!”

She was halfway back to the Fifth when she realized she had forgotten her notebook, and had to dash frantically back to the First. As she shoved open the shoji to the meeting room, Rukia very abruptly thumped her elbow down on the table, shoving her hair out of her face with her other hand. Renji’s chair fell over backwards.

“Are you two still here?” Momo asked, picking up her notebook.

“Very complicated Kuchiki stuff,” Renji called from the floor.

“Very complicated,” Rukia concurred.

* * *

“You wished to see me, Brother?” Rukia appeared in the doorway of Byakuya’s office at the manor.

“Good morning, Rukia. You are looking very lovely.”

Rukia smiled and cast her eyes down. Byakuya knew very well she was on her way to a festival downtown. She did look lovely in her brightly colored kimono and jeweled hairpins, but it was more than that. There was a certain… energy… about Rukia lately. Much like himself, Rukia’s default facial expression had once been a sort of unamused glower. Lately, though, she often wore a faraway smile, as though she were remembering an amusing story someone had told her at some earlier occasion. She was more talkative, more cheerful, but it was underlaid with a sort of serenity, a sense that all was right with the Soul Society.

“Thank you, Brother,” she replied, her cheeks flushing a very becoming pink.

“As you know, the manor is very large, especially for only two residents,” Byakuya started off, gazing out the doorway toward the gardens. “There are many odd corners of it, closed off hallways, etc. I am sure you have… poked around from time to time.”

Rukia’s cheeks flushed a darker pink. “I… er…”

Byakuya waved a hand. “As you are perfectly welcome to! This is your home. They are only packed away to avoid the need for cleaning and to preserve the furniture.”

“Oh,” Rukia replied, looking a little confused as to why he would be bringing this up.

“I did, however, want to mention, in particular, the lower engawa that permits access to the sunken garden. It is quite difficult to reach. The main access had to be blocked when the wine cellar was remodeled a few decades ago. There are still ways to get there, of course. It is attached to an old guest room, and the servant’s passages can still be accessed through the root cellar in the kitchens.”

“Hmm!” Rukia nodded.

“One could also theoretically… jump down from the balcony directly above it, which is an unused pottery studio that belonged to my grandmother.” Byakuya rubbed his chin, recalling the way one had to sort of swing a little before one dropped down, otherwise, one might land directly in his grandmother’s prize roses, which had rather notable thorns.

“Seems quite a bother,” Rukia observed airily.

“It is a rather nice spot,” Byakuya pointed out. “The way it is situated under the house gives quite a bit of privacy. It is nearly invisible if one does not know where to look for it. The flowers in the sunken garden are very fragrant, and in fine weather, it permits lovely breezes. There is… a downside, though.”

Rukia stared at Byakuya. Byakuya let his gaze return to his sister.

“A peculiarity of the manor’s construction causes any noise from that engawa to be funnelled-- perhaps even amplified-- up… here,” he waved his hand vaguely around the study.

Rukia’s face was darkening from a delicate shade of pink to a ripe crimson.

“So any, say...conversations... one might have there are… not as private as one might think.”

“I… see,” Rukia squeaked.

Byakuya felt a strong twinge of sympathy for his sister. He knew he did not need to continue, but for the first time in his life, he felt the desire to engage in a bit of sibling solidarity. “Rukia,” he said.

“Yes, Brother?”

“The reason I know this, Rukia…. is because this used to be our grandfather’s study.”

Rukia’s countenance abruptly turned from red to white as all the blood drained from her face. She looked rather like a daikon.

Byakuya took a deep breath, and looked out at the garden once again. “You have probably noticed that the tea house in the garden is fairly modern. It was built for my mother, in fact, who found the old one to be difficult to get to. The previous one was built before the hedge maze grew into its current glory. It’s still back there, you know, and in fairly good repair. A great deal of morning glory has grown up around it, and it is rather small and drafty, but it’s very charming. He tapped his finger on his chin. “There is some storage, you know, if one wished to keep, say a blanket, or a bottle or two of sake…”

“How interesting!” Rukia cut him off, her voice a full octave above its usual pitch.

Byakuya leaned back. “Your sister was very fond of that tea house. She said it was ‘quaint.’”

Rukia’s mouth opened and then closed again, without a single word falling out.

Byakuya wondered if he should mention the loose floorboard or the family of raccoons that had once taken up residence under it. He decided not to. Rukia was certainly capable of handling a few raccoons.

“You have plans for today?”

“Er, ah, yes!”

“You do not want to be late. I have said what I wished to say. Have a nice time.”

“Yes, Brother! Thank...you… Brother!”

Byakuya nodded and smiled pleasantly. “Tell my vice-captain I sent my regards.”


	23. locking eyes, holding hands (twin high maintenance machines)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes friendship means acting out your friend's high concept Maid Cop fanfiction on her birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: Renji’s proposal to Rukia for a Drabble?_
> 
> So, my first reaction was, [I already wrote this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23469970). But the nice thing about fanfic is that just because you’ve written something once doesn’t mean you can’t write is again, in a totally different way. I don’t really know what my brain was doing when it came up with this idea, but the thing under the cut is simultaneously my magnum opus and the dumbest thing I have ever written. It is fanfic about fanfic about a movie that took place within another movie inside a filler episode, although, presumably, within the conceit of this fanfic, Battle Maid Cop!! is a manga which is presumably published within Soul Society.
> 
> I am very, very sorry. (If you haven’t, you should definitely watch [Bleach #298](https://bleach.fandom.com/wiki/Film!_Festival!_Shinigami_Film_Festival!) before reading this. It’s the one where Renji directs a movie about Maid Cop, starring Rukia as Maid Cop. It is definitely a half hour of your life you will never get back)

Rukia lay in the grass in the backyard of the Kurosaki Clinic, sweating very unattractively.

“Here, I got you a Ramune,” Renji said, trying and mostly failing to balance a cold bottle of soda on her forehead. Rukia reached up and grabbed it before it could spill all over her face.

“Is it melon?” Rukia asked pitifully.

“Of course it is, I know what you like,” Renji scoffed, plopping down next to her, and taking a slug of his own, which was pineapple. 

It was September 1, which by virtue of being the closest Saturday to both August 31 and September 3, made it Orihime & Renji’s Birthday, the best day of the year. The Kickball Match had just concluded, with Orihime’s Team winning for possibly the first time ever. The primary reason for this was that _Byakuya_ was attending this year’s festivities for unknown reasons, and had been put on Renji’s team. Byakuya had never played kickball in his life. Byakuya… was not very good at kickball. 

“So what’s it gonna be this year?” Renji shouted to his birthday buddy. It was traditional that each of them picked an activity and forced all their friends to participate in it. Renji usually chose kickball, but Orihime’s choices varied wildly. One year, it was an extremely elaborate ice cream sundae bar, another, it was karaoke. Last year, they had all had to design magical girl costumes for themselves. 

“Well,” Orihime announced grandly, from her perch in the Best Kurosaki Lawn Chair, the only one without a tricky leg, “This year, I was hoping everyone would help me do a dramatic reading of Chapter 37 of my Maid Cop long-running fanfiction, _locking eyes, holding hands (twin high maintenance machines)_.” 

Rukia sat up abruptly. “You haven’t posted Part 37 yet!”

“I _know_ ,” Orihime replied conspiratorially. “Do you want to be Maid Cop?”

“Of course I want to be Maid Cop!” Rukia shouted back. 

“Good!” Orihime agreed. “I am going to be the villain, Contessa Constance Cnidaria, PhD. Renji, will you read the part of Werewolf EMT?”

Renji shot her a thumbs up around his soda.

“Who is Werewolf EMT?” Ichigo protested. “I don’t remember there being a Werewolf EMT in Maid Cop.”

“It’s her OC, get with it,” Uryuu kicked him in the shin.

“He’s not technically an OC,” Orihime pointed out. “There was a cute EMT in issue 36, where Maid Cop visits the planet of the werewolves. That’s the one where she gets plasma sickness and he keeps her alive until she can steal the antidote back from Black Nebula. He had a tail and cute pointy ears and paw beans!”

“I see,” said Ichigo, who wished that he didn’t.

Orihime thrust what appeared to be a printed script into his hand. “Ichigo, you will be Maid Cop’s sidekick, Mysterious High School Soul Reaper. Since, _apparently_ , you aren’t up-to-date with my story, you have been taken prisoner by Contessa Constance Cnidaria, PhD. You’ve actually concocted an elaborate means to escape, and sent a subspace message to Maid Cop, and in the meantime, you are playing along with the Contessa’s plans-- _however_! She has fallen in love with you!”

“What,” said Ichigo.

“This is sort of a redemption arc for her, FYI. It turns out that much of her villainy is based on her dissatisfaction with the central galactic ruling body, and it turns out that you agree with many of her principles, if not her methods,” Orihime went on. “In fact,” Orihime placed one hand over her heart, “you may be falling in love with her as well.”

“I can read the part of Mysterious High School Soul Reaper if you don’t want to,” Uryuu offered. “I’m Orihime’s beta reader, so I’m pretty well up on his motivations and such.”

“I can do it!” Ichigo protested. “You can be the Big Frog guy!”

“I don’t write fanfiction about Tall Frog, I find him problematic,” Orihime replied icily. “Uryuu can be General Despair, the Contessa’s ex-husband, who, in this story, is a romantic rival.”

“For the Contessa?” Ichigo asked hopefully. 

“No,” replied Orihime. “Mr. Kuchiki! Will you please do special effects?”

“No!” Ichigo yelped. “Byakuya is not doing any special effects in my backyard! Did you bring your zanpakutou? Zanpakutou are not allowed at Orihime & Renji’s Birthday!”

“Oh, relax, silly,” Orihime chided him. “I just want him to read all the _ZAPs_ and _BLAMMOs._ ”

“It would be my pleasure, Miss Inoue,” Byakuya agreed, graciously accepting his script.

Orihime finished doling out parts. “Now, for those of you who are _not caught up_ ,” she explained, “when we last left our heroes, Maid Cop and Werewolf EMT had gotten separated, and Werewolf EMT was confronting Contessa Constance Cnidaria, PhD. She has stunned him with her robotic cilia and is about to _finish him off_ with her Medusa Sting!”

“I don’t remember, do I have any attacks?” Renji asked Rukia. 

“You have fast healing and a bite attack,” Rukia explained. “And you can understand animals. And you turn into an actual wolf on the full moon, but you lose your humanity, etc.”

“How do I know when it’s a full moon?” Renji asked. “Aren’t we in space?”

“That’s a very interesting question!” Orihime piped up. “I have written a long meta on it! It’s my top post on Tumblr. But we don’t have time for that right now, because I want to get this over with so we can have cake!”

“Right!” Renji agreed, squinting at his script. “Contessa Constance Cnidaria, PhD! I know that in your heart,” he thumped his hand against his chest, “you are a good person! Kill me if you must, but don’t go through with your plan to flood the entire planet of Zultar Theta!”

Orihime let out an excellent villainous cackle. “You are such a _chump_ , Werewolf EMT! You really think I care about you _or_ planet Zultar Theta? No! This has all been a ploy, to lure my nemesis, Maid Cop here! I am going to ruin her happiness by murdering you, her true love, right in front of her eyes!”

Renji clenched his fist. “You’re wrong, Cnidaria. It’s true that I love Maid Cop more than even my favorite squeaky bone, but she does not return my feelings.”

Orihime snorted. “Are you an idiot? Why bother loving someone if you don’t love you in return?”

“I have the heart of a canine healthcare worker, loyalty is in my nature!” Renji proclaimed. “Maid Cop is beautiful and brave and selfless! I am just happy to be near her and help her however I can! You probably can’t understand, because you’ve never loved anyone!”

“Silence!” Orihime roared. 

“It says that the robotic cilia tighten around his body,” Byakuya frowned. “What sound does that make?”

“Maybe a clanky clank?” Orihime guessed, sticking her lower lip.

“I think maybe more of a _whirrrrrr_?” Uryuu suggested.

“Are they underwater?” Chad asked. “I thought this was all taking place in Contessa Cnidaria’s neutral buoyancy chamber?”

“I bet Werewolf EMT smells really bad when he gets wet,” Ichigo opined.

“I bet _you_ smell really bad when you get wet!” Renji shot back.

“I think Uryuu’s right, it’s more like a _whirrring_ ,” Orihime decided.

“Whir. Whir,” said Byakuya. 

“Aaaauuuggh!” Renji clutched at his throat.

“Crash,” said Byakuya. “Explosion.”

“Cease your evildoing, Evildoer!” Rukia commanded.

“Uggggh, I could not stop her!” Uryuu groaned dramatically. “Forgive me… Contessa!” He flopped back in his lawn chair, which promptly collapsed on him.

“Splash,” read Byakuya. “It says he fell into the neutral buoyancy tank. I suppose there was a neutral buoyancy tank.”

“Maid Cop!” Renji gasped. “You shouldn’t have come!”

“Maid Cop!” Orihime snarled. “You have fallen right into my hands! Medusa STING!”

Rukia took a long swig of her melon soda, and, thrusting it at Renji, leapt to her feet. “Maid Cop DODGE! Eat ray gun, blackguard!”

“Zap,” said Byakuya.

Rukia bumrushed Orihime, fists swinging. Orihime sidestepped and aimed a karate chop at her kidneys. 

“What… what are you--? don’t hurt each other…” Ichigo frowned, waving his hands helplessly.

“Get with it, Kurosaki,” Tatsuki shoved him in the head. “They’re just doing the fight scene I choreographed for them when they cosplayed at MaidCon last year. Don’t pull your punches so much, ‘Hime! You’ve got plenty of space!”

“UGH!” Orihime finally grunted as Rukia pretended to land a kick to her gut. “You may have defeated me in combat, Maid Cop, but you shan’t win this one! I have set this secret lab to self-destruct while I escape in my shuttlecraft-- with your sidekick, Mysterious High School Soul Reaper! You must choose whether to chase after me-- or to save your loyal puppy dog! Ha ha ha ha ha! Secret emergency teleport!”

“Beeee-yuuuuuuw,” said Byakuya. 

Renji flopped on the ground and rolled around a little. “Maid Cop! Leave me! Go save Mysterious High School Soul Reaper! He is weak and cowardly, he needs your help!”

“That’s not what the script says,” Ichigo grumbled.

“Do not knock over my soda, doofus,” Rukia scolded Renji. Orihime elbowed her in the ribs and she looked back at her script. “Oh, er, right. Werewolf EMT!” She ran toward Renji and made a little jumping motion.

“Splash,” said Byakuya. 

“Take that, robotic cilia!” Rukia shouted. “Maid Cop UPPERCUT!”

“Crash,” said Byakuya. “Crunch.”

Renji coughed a little and sat up. “You… saved me, Maid Cop!”

“Of course I did, you furry goof,” Rukia replied. “Mysterious High School Soul Reaper sent me a message-- he’s been seducing Contessa Constance Cnidaria, PhD, and has her wrapped around his little finger.”

Orihime waggled her eyebrows at Ichigo, which made a very funny (but not entirely unpleasant) feeling take up residence in his stomach. 

“But it doesn’t matter,” Rukia continued. “I could never leave you!”

“Oh, Maid Cop,” Renji said, sitting up on his knees. “You’re such a good friend!”

Rukia glanced at the next few lines of the script, then over to Orihime. “Wait, this is _it_?” she hissed. “They’re gonna _confess_?”

Orihime nodded eagerly.

Rukia cleared her throat a little. “Did you mean it? What you told the Contessa?”

Renji swallowed. “Which...part?”

“Do you… do you really love me?”

“Aw, jeez,” Ichigo mumbled.

“Shut up, Brother, it’s Orihime’s _birthday_!” Yuzu snapped. “Also, someone of us have been waiting a long time for this confession!

Renji ignored the peanut gallery, and took Rukia’s hand. “Of course I do. You’re my favorite person, Maid Cop. I’ve loved you since the moment I met you. Please don’t feel bad if you don’t love me back, it won’t change anything--”

“You fool! You dummy! Of course I love you, back!”

“But Maid Cop, you’re so brave and daring! So beautiful and glamorous! I’m just a lowly paramedic pup!”

“Bravery in battle is one thing, but you are kind and caring! Loyal and dependable! And I don’t see how you can call me brave, when you are always at my side whenever we leap into battle!” Rukia felt her cheeks going a little warm. This was all hitting a bit too close to home. To be honest, Rukia had been wondering for a while if Orihime had based Werewolf EMT off Renji, just a little bit. Not that she minded! After all, she identified with Maid Cop-- especially Orihime’s characterization of Maid Cop-- and naturally she would approve of her friend inventing a love interest for their favorite hero who had all the best qualities of her own boyfriend. And it’s not that any of these things weren’t true, it’s just that she wasn’t terribly used to saying them out loud, and certainly not in front of other people.

Renji was looking up at her (that was a nice change), his eyes soft, and a dopey smile on his face. Was he getting sentimental over Orihime’s sappy fanfic, too? That would be just like him. “You’ve made me the happiest werewolf in the galaxy,” he murmured, and Rukia could practically _hear_ Ichigo’s eyes rolling. “Being with you is all I’ve ever wanted. I love you so much, Rukia. I’d follow you to the Royal Realm or Hueco Mundo or the farthest reaches of the galaxy. And I know it hasn’t been that long since we had our own confessions, but I’ve never been surer or anything, and also it’s my birthday, so you have to do things I ask you to. Kuchiki Rukia, will you marry me?”

Rukia squinted at her script, which seemed to be missing a bit, and then back down at Renji. He was now up on one knee, and seemed to have produced a ring from somewhere. Rukia swung her head around to Orihime. “Orihime, you know I love your writing, but it’s too much all at once! You can’t tack a proposal right onto a confession like that!”

Orihime’s hands were clasped in front of her chest, and tears were leaking out of her eyes. That didn’t seem like the right reaction. Something was wrong. Rukia scanned the faces of her friends, hoping for clues. Chad’s hand was pressed over his mouth and his eyes were huge. At least Ichigo looked as confused as she was, but Yuzu was gripping his t-shirt, her jaw hanging open. Both Karin and Tatsuki looked like they very much wished this was over so they could have cake. Uryuu’s head was tilted to the side in disapproval. He gestured soundlessly at Renji. One of his feet was still stuck in the lawn chair.

Rukia looked down again, where Renji was still kneeling, grinning indulgently at her. Rukia blinked at him. “You used my name.”

“I did.”

“That’s an actual real ring isn’t it, not something you got out of a gumball machine?”

“It is a real ring, that cost real money. Would you like to look at it?”

Rukia took it gingerly, and examined it, well aware that something hot and wet was coming out of her eyes. The band was slender, which was good, since anything bulkier would look huge on her hand. It was mokume-gane, silver and gold swirled together in a laminated metal technique that was traditionally used for katana, and looked not entirely unlike tiger stripes. Rukia was not a person who was _into_ metal-working, per se, but Renji talked about it enough, and to be fair, it was very beautiful. It was also set with a diamond. Again, small, but well-proportioned to her hand, and of excellent clarity and cut.

“You can try it on, if you want,” Renji urged. “I won’t take it as any kinda answer.”

Instead, Rukia leaned down and grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt. “You dummy!” she hissed. “You moron! How could you ruin Orihime’s birthday like this!”

Renji snorted. “Rukia. Orihime an’ I were talkin’... about a buncha stuff, including how she thought you might feel about all this, and whether or not you might want a ring, and things I should say or not say, and then we were talking about our birthday, and she said that what she wanted _the most_ for her birthday was for me to do this so she could see it.”

“In the middle of her fanfic and _everything_?” Rukia howled.

“Do you think I would have come up with this on my own?” Renji asked dryly.

“You _might_!” Rukia accused. She swung her head around to Orihime, whose entire face had turned into jello. “Orihime!”

“You should say ‘yes’, Rukia!” Orihime wailed. “He’s so nice! What kind of guy lets a girl’s best friend write his proposal speech into a fanfic for her?”

“Of course I’m going to say ‘yes’,” Rukia flapped the hand the Renji wasn’t currently holding. Renji let out a rather relieved breath. “You did this all for me? On your own _birthday_?”

“Well, it’s his birthday, too! And I have a lot of favorite people, but you are two of them, oh, Rukia, I’m so happy! Hurry up and say yes, I want to see the ring! He sent me a picture, but I want to see it for real!”

Rukia turned back to the love of her life, who was taking a drink of his soda, but he set it down very quickly. “Abarai Renji, aka, Werewolf EMT!”

“Yes, dear?”

“Don’t call me that. I…” She swallowed hard. Why was this so hard? “I…” She frowned. “Wait, you did ask my brother first, right? He agreed to this?”

“Believe it or not, he did,” Renji shrugged. 

“Brother!” Both of their heads swiveled over to Byakuya, who was sitting on the picnic table with Isshin. They were both eating popsicles.

“Do you require a sound effect?” Byakuya asked.

“Brother, you have been holding out on me!” Rukia scolded. “How long have you known? And where did you get that popsicle?”

“About three weeks,” Byakuya replied, completely unconcerned. 

“Popsicles are for captains, only,” Isshin added.

“And you… agreed?” Rukia asked, her voice cracking a little at the end.

“He would not have been my first choice, but he seems to make you happy. There is little else that matters to me. Also, it’s his birthday.”

“Someone coulda told _me_ ,” Ichigo grumbled, throwing up his hands.

“You’re terrible at keeping secrets,” Uryuu pointed out.

“Did _you_ know?” 

“Of course I knew, I had to beta-read the story!”

“Who else knew?” Ichigo demanded.

“Well, I had to make the cake,” Yuzu excused. “Cakes. I made one ‘Congratulations’ cake and one contingency cake for if she said ‘no.’ And I told Karin because I tell Karin everything.”

“I knew because Orihime is also terrible at secrets,” Tatsuki pointed out.

“Mm,” Chad concurred.

“It’s okay, Ichigo,” Rukia comforted him. “I appreciate you being my emotional support dumbass in this trying time.”

“For serious!” Ichigo exclaimed. “Will you accept the man’s proposal already? My knees hurt just looking at him!”

Renji shot Ichigo a not-very surreptitious thumbs up. 

Rukia stuffed the ring back in Renji’s hand, and held out her hand, fingers splayed wide. “I accept! Do the honors, wouldja?” She leaned down so only he could hear. “It’s really pretty. You did a good job.”

Renji slid it onto her finger. It fit perfectly. “I know what you like,” he replied. 


	24. Heavy Objects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some bros lifting weights and supporting each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: can you pls do a Renji drabble where he’s weight training with his usual guy friends and there’s a synergistic moment where he’s also giving lovely therapeutic advice to his gang of bros (any of them you see fit, or all, not picky) like the beautiful friend he is. There’s just something about the dynamic between hot sweaty muscle building while simultaneously accomplishing emotional and interpersonal build/growth that just... ahhh._
> 
> This prompt has exactly the energy I am always trying to imbue into the Renji - Iba Squad 11 Disaster Roommates dynamic. I threw in some Squad 11 gym rat bros, unfortunately, this did not lend itself to pulling in more established characters (I think Ikkaku is an absolutely chaotic lifter and Renji & Iba can’t be in the same gym as him and he would never go before noon anyway and Yumichika does not lift, his entire conditioning routine consists of 1980’s VHS jazzercise tapes and it’s super-effective). 
> 
> A thing I always struggle with is, when shinigami lift, do they wear shihakushou, or do they have gym clothes? For the purposes of this, I am going to say they have gym clothes, but they’re like 50 years out of fashion, like the gym class outfit Danny Zuko wore in _Grease,_ tube socks and all, which would look absolutely _fire_ on both Renji and Iba.
> 
> PS: Not that anyone cares, but the wiki says that Iba weights _150lbs_ , that is literally horseshit, even beyond the usually shinigami-have-hollow-bones nonsense, there is _no way_ Renji has 20lb on Iba, even with those extra 2.5”.

“Oi, Abarai, I’m ready to do my back squats, you ready to spot me?” Iba grunted.

“Be right there!” Renji replied, finishing up his set of lunges. “You ready to move up to 460?”

Iba breathed out through his nose as he pulled on his lifting gloves. “Nah. Today’s not the day.”

From the leg press, Arai glanced over, but said nothing.

“That’s fine,” Renji agreed, coming up to take his position behind Iba. “Your schedule says you can do it either this week or next, and you gotta listen to your body.”

“Eh,” Iba agreed. “You ready?”

“I got you, man.”

Iba hefted the loaded barbell onto his traps. The two men took a deep breath in through their noses, and bent at the knees in concert, Renji’s hands hovering near Iba’s elbows, without touching.

“Or maybe it’s more a mental block, you think?” Renji went on casually.

They came back up again, still perfectly synchronized, before Iba answered. “I guess I’m not really ready to move forward in that way right now.”

Breathe in. Down.

“Does this have anything to do with why you decided to stop seeing Kamiya?”

There was a clink from the free weight section. “They broke up?” Mizuochi gasped.

“Get with it,” Hammerhead Maki chided him.

Iba grunted, and rose up again. “Maybe.”

“Don’t lean forward too far. 45 degrees, max, maintain your core,” Renji suggested. “I really liked her, to be honest, you guys seemed like a good match.”

Iba took a deep breath and down they went again. “I just felt like she wasn’t really respecting my boundaries, y’know,” he finally said, when he had completed the rep.

“Which boundaries?” Renji asked. “Like, she wanted you to stop using the Hiroshima accent in bed, or like she wanted you to work on your relationship with your mom?”

“She actually really got along with Mom,” Iba grunted. “Which was nice, for once.”

“Watch your knees,” Renji warned, “they’re collapsing inward a little.”

“It’s career-stuff, actually,” Iba grunted. “She always wants the particulars of what’s my five-year plan, how is bankai training going, ‘maybe I should transfer to the Thirteenth, an internal promotion would be easier.’” 

“Okay, that was ten, you wanna do another set?”

“Yeah, but I wanna catch my breath first.”

Renji thought for a moment. “Anyway, you always talk about that stuff with me.”

Iba sniffed. “That’s different. We have a rapport. I don’t feel like you’re second-guessing me all the time.”

“I make fun of you sometimes,” Renji pointed out.

“Yeah, sure, because you’re jealous of my successes.”

“It’s like she only cares about you for your future paycheck,” Hammerhead Maki suggested.

“Exactly!” Iba agreed. “Ugh, I wanna rack this thing.”

“Good idea,” Renji agreed, as Iba hefted the barbell back onto its rack. “Easy does it!”

“Hey, maybe she was just trying to be supportive,” Arai posited. 

Iba rolled his shoulders. “That’s one of the things that makes it hard! She was really nice, but I feel like she just didn’t _get_ me. For me, training is a journey. It’s not like I’m gonna slow down after I make vice-captain. She’s really ambitious about climbing seats herself because she likes that feeling of accomplishment, climbing those stairs, but she’s only a 14th seat, and I feel like she doesn’t appreciate how it’s different as you get closer to the top.”

“You left on a good note, though, right?” Renji asked, in a way that indicated he wasn’t sure whether or not that was the case.

“I tried,” Iba acknowledged. “She was pretty upset about it.”

“Maybe she just needs some time,” Hammerhead offered. “Seems like a good idea to keep that door open.”

“But not too open,” Renji was quick to put in. “I think you did the right thing for both of you, and you should hold firm to that.”

Iba nodded, and flexed his fingers. “You know, Abarai, I feel like maybe I could go up to 460 today after all. You mind throwing a couple more plates on there for me?”

“No problem!” Renji replied. “What are friends for?”


	25. Five o' Clock Can't Come Soon Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Renji's birthday, and he can't wait until the end of his shift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: Renji is probably my fave anime character ever! Thanks for taking the time to do something special for his day ☺️ hmm I’m pretty terrible at being creative, but I’d love to see a Byakuya/Renji venture where Byakuya surprises him by remembering his birthday to begin with lol that’s the best I can come up with!_
> 
> In _Between Tides_ , there’s a reference to Byakuya remembering Renji’s birthday, although it eventually comes out that he didn’t remember, he just paid attention when Rukia said she wouldn’t be home that evening. You might think it was a throwaway line, but there are no Polynya throwaway lines. I am obsessed with the fact that Renji had a birthday between the end of the Soul Society Arc and the beginning of the Advance Team Arc, and I honestly got kinda excited to flesh this scene out a bit.
> 
> Additional note: I wrote this a month ago and am literally just now noticing that the poor requester probably wanted ByaRen, and my brain just parsed the slash in a very platonic way. Sorry about that Anon! It was a very intense week and I got real hyped up on this prompt. :/

It was after four o’clock when Renji rolled back into the Squad 6 offices. One of the things he liked most about being a vice-captain was that he had a fair amount of freedom to set his own schedule. He had known ahead of time that this afternoon was going to drag brutally, so he piled up a bunch of tasks that he hoped would make time pass fairly quickly. He’d just finished swordwork skills with the upper seats, and the only thing left was Organizing the Equipment Shed, which was always a nice late Friday afternoon sort of thing to do anyway. 

He just needed to stop by the office, drop off his sword, and make sure he didn’t have any messages. As he headed down the hallway, he pulled out his phone. He had quite a number of new texts, probably birthday well-wishes, mostly people he would see later that evening. There was also a couple of texts from “Kuchiki Fucking Rukia”.

He really shouldn’t have let her put her own contact info into his phone, but she had assured him that Byakuya wouldn’t touch a spirit phone if the entire pride of the Kuchiki were on the line. He was almost positive she had him in her phone as “Abarai Fucking Renji.”

Renji stared at his phone for a long second, letting himself savor the euphoria that “two new text messages from Kuchiki Fucking Rukia” brought to his heart, before he couldn’t wait any longer, and he read them.

The first was a selfie. It was a selfie of Rukia pretending to drink straight from a large bottle of sake. He hoped she was pretending. The second message said “PRE-GAMING. Lemme know when you’re off!!!”

Forty years. Forty years of push-ups, of training with Ikkaku, of studying Kuchiki military history. Forty years of loneliness, of sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, of wishing more than anything that he could just go back to that shitty hellhole, Inuzuri. Forty birthdays spent drinking and laughing and marking off another empty year and wondering if next year would finally be the one.

And here it was, the best birthday gift he could possibly imagine, an extremely dirtbaggy text from his best girl, the First Daughter of the Kuchiki, who was taking him out to dinner after work before they met up with all the usual suspects and got roaring drunk _together_. He just had to survive the next forty-five minutes.

He shoved his phone back in his pocket as he shoved open the shoji to the office.

Captain Kuchiki was in. 

Of course, Captain Kuchiki was in. Where else would the man be at 4:15 on a Friday afternoon, but cheerfully denying peoples’ vacation requests? At Squad 13, apparently, you were allowed to go in up to two hours early on Fridays and leave accordingly early, but Byakuya was not exactly a man who believed in _flexible schedules_. 

“Good afternoon, sir,” Renji greeted, putting Zabimaru on their rack, and eying his inbox.

“Good afternoon, Abarai,” Captain Kuchiki replied absently, flipping over a sheet of paper. 

Renji’s inbox contained three mission write-ups, a flyer soliciting submissions to a homebrew poetry magazine, one travel reimbursement request, and a sternly worded memo from the head office about what could and could not be submitted as ryouka-related damages. Absolutely nothing that couldn’t wait until Monday. That Equipment Shed was calling his name.

“Abarai,” Captain Kuchiki said smoothly, without looking up from his writing. “Today is your birthday, is it not?”

Every muscle in Renji’s body seized. “Er… it is, sir.”

What fresh hell could this possibly bring? Renji wouldn’t have minded running a few laps, but Byakuya wasn’t usually one to use physical conditioning as torture. There might be some file folders to alphabetize, or perhaps there was some multi-part personnel form he needed to update on a yearly basis. Yes, special birthday paperwork seemed exactly Byakuya’s style. Renji only hoped that he would be able to finish it in forty-five minutes or less. He was trying to have a good relationship with his captain, but if this fancy bastard made him wait _even one minute more_ to see Kuchiki Fucking Rukia on his own damn birthday--

“If you wish, you may leave at 4:30,” Byakuya continued.

Renji stared disbelievingly at his captain, jaw slack.

“I am sure the miscreants you socialize with have some disorderly revelries planned for you,” Byakuya noted. “Try not to dishonor our division, and make sure you are sober and on-time to work tomorrow.”

Renji stood in stunned silence for a moment, drinking this moment in. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, sir,” he finally pointed out.

“Ah, yes, you are correct,” Byakuya agreed. What sort of person _didn’t know_ , in the core of their soul, when it was Friday afternoon? “You should try to be sober by then, anyway, so that you may devote an appropriate amount of energy to whatever avocation you pursue on the weekends.”

As far as Renji know, drinking _was_ his weekend avocation, but he wasn’t about to say so. Maybe Rukia had avocations. Maybe she would like some company for her avocations. He could ask her, when he saw her. That was a thing he could do now. Well. After he got off. In ten minutes.

“Thank you, sir!” Renji barked, picking up Zabimaru again, and digging his sunglasses out of the desk drawer where he had left them. “Thanks _a lot_ , sir!”

Byakuya looked mildly puzzled by his enthusiasm. “You’re welcome, Lieutenant. Are you leaving now?”

“I got ten minutes,” Renji explained. “Which is just enough time to tell Rikichi to go organize the Equipment Shed.”


	26. Doing Our Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Motherhood isn't always a bed of roses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: this might be on the heavier side, but I was thinking about a drabble where Renji is consoling Rukia after she’s had a breakdown about feeling like a shitty mother._
> 
> Why would you do this to me??? Ugh, I admit I took the cop-out route, and went for “feeling like a shitty mom” rather than “being a shitty mom.” I think Rukia is a _great_ mom, tbh, but we all screw up now and again. I can def see her and Ichika going full-bastard-Kuchiki against each other in Ichika’s teen years, but also, like, this is a drabble. So, uh, here’s a drabble about postpartum depression instead, good memories, good times.
> 
>  **Trigger warnings:** Postpartum depression, the absolute horror of having a small infant on a bad day, feeling like a shitty mom.

The house was quiet when Renji got home, which had him worried, just a tiny bit. As he was shaking the snow off his hanten before hanging it up, Rukia clattered down into the entryway, her face drawn and wild-eyed, and then he was worried a lot.

“You didn’t need to come home,” she informed him urgently.

“You texted me,” he replied softly.

“I… I’m sorry. I texted you again. Maybe you didn’t get it. I told you to stay at work. Everything’s fine. She finally fell asleep. She’s fine. I’m fine. We’re fine. You can go back.”

“Don’t really want to,” Renji replied, putting a hand on his wife’s back and leading her back into the house. “It’s snowin’ out, getting worse by the minute.” He thought about mentioning that it would be more trouble trying to explain to Byakuya what he was doing _back_ at work, but his gut told him that mentioning Byakuya’s clucking wasn’t gonna make things any better. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Rukia twisted her wedding ring on her finger. “I don’t know. Ichika was so cheerful this morning before you left.”

“She got up pretty early,” Renji reminded Rukia. “And she was up three times in the night?”

“Four,” Rukia admitted. “You slept through one of them.”

Renji frowned. That was unusual. He was usually the lighter sleeper of the two of them.

“I never got back to sleep after time number two,” Rukia replied guiltily, as if reading his mind. “She didn’t want to nap this morning, and every time I tried to feed her, she’d nurse for less than five minutes, but then she’d want to nurse _again_ ten minutes later…”

“Hey, you want me to make you a hot cocoa?” Renji offered. 

Rukia checked her watch. “It’s time for me to have my tea, again.”

“The one that’s ‘sposed to help with making milk? You said you didn’t like it. You said it was gross.”

“That doesn’t really matter.”

“It does matter. I’m making cocoa.”

Rukia chewed a hangnail nervously. “Maybe my supply is low. Maybe that’s why she was so cranky. I’m probably not drinking enough water.”

Renji watched her carefully while he dug through saucepans. She chewed on her fingers occasionally when back in Inuzuri, and a lot when they were in school, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her do it. “Maybe she’s growing. Maybe she’s growing a tooth. Maybe she’s a fuckin’ baby. Don’t sweat it.” He made a decision. “Let’s go sit down, I’ll do this in a minute.”

Her shoulders were stiff as he practically steered her over to the couch and maneuvered her into sitting down beside him. 

“I yelled at her,” Rukia mumbled, her words barely audible.

“Hmm?” Renji asked, pulling her into his side, and rubbing her arm. 

“She had been screaming and screaming and I… I screamed back.” Rukia swallowed. “And I put her down in bed and walked around outside and made myself really cold until I was calm again, and then I came back in, and got her again. She didn’t like it, that I was cold, but it’s all I could do. I could be cold or I could be mad, I don’t have anything in between. That’s when I texted you. Eventually, she cried herself out and fell asleep and I put her back in bed.”

Renji scratched his head. “I mean, it’s not great, but I think you did the best you could.”

“I _yelled_ at _my baby_ , Renji,” Rukia repeated, her voice thick with self-loathing. “I don’t know why I thought I could do this. I’m all ice and sharp edges. I don’t even know what mothers are like but they’re not like me.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know what mothers are like, either, who cares?” Renji grunted. “There’s you and there’s me and we love our kid and we’re doing our best. And it sounds to me like you’re the one that isn’t getting what they need.” He thought. “When’s the last time you went out? For a while there, you were takin’ Ichika on little trips out to visit Hanatarou and Kiyone?”

“The weather’s been bad,” Rukia excused. “I dunno. We went over Brother’s last week?”

Renji scowled. “That doesn’t count, there were Aunts there.” The Aunts had spent a great deal of time commenting on how slim Rukia looked and how nice it must be to get one’s body back in shape so easily. There was no one like a Kuchiki Aunt for handing out compliments with razor blades baked inside.

“You should invite someone over,” Renji suggested, but nearly all their friends were at work during the day, he realized as he said it. He could take more time off, but he’d suggested that before and it just made her feel like she couldn’t handle things.

“The house is always a mess,” Rukia replied glumly. This was also true, but it’s not like he himself had ever been put off by gross dishes that piled up when Kira’s brain turned on him. That's what friends were for, right? For showing up and doing your moldy dishes and making you go get some sunshine when your headed needed a little airing out.

A tiny cloud gave off a tiny bolt of lightning in Renji’s brain. “Hey, what happened to your old maid, the cute one, with the freckles?”

“Mikan?”

“Yeah, she still work for Byakuya?”

“Mm-hmm, she got promoted. She’s Chiyo’s assistant now, does a lot of the household management and event planning.”

Renji smoothed Rukia’s hair with his fingers. “I know we’ve always turned down Byakuya when he tries to send people over… but what if Mikan came by a few hours a week? She doesn’t even have to do anything, just keep you company and hold the baby for a bit?”

“She would fuss at me and make me take a nap,” Rukia dismissed.

“Would y’take one?” Renji asked hopefully.

Something cracked behind Rukia’s eyes, and Renji pressed a kiss into her hair. “You’re workin’ so hard, babe, and I know you always want to do these things on your own, but there ain’t nothing wrong with having some help to rely on. I’m a career vice-captain. I know these things.”

Rukia was silent for a long time. “Mikan really likes Ichika.”

“I thought she did.”

“I’ll… I’ll think about it, okay?”

Renji nodded, and squeezed her. “You are the strongest person I know, and letting someone help you takes more strength than most people wanna admit. I’m gonna make you your hot cocoa now, okay? Unless you’d feel better to have your gross tea? I’ll make it for you if that’s what you really want.”

“I think,” said Rukia, “that I’d rather have the hot cocoa.”


	27. Himbo Moving Services

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuru gets some unexpected help as he prepares to move into his new quarters at the 3rd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: Are you still accepting prompts for Renji's birthday? Would you be willing to write some sort of shenanigans involving him and Izuru and/or Shuuhei?_
> 
> So, I tried to write something about Renji and Shuuhei helping Izuru move when he gets promoted to Vice-Captain, and it didn’t come out quite as shenanigan-y as I had intended. I have so many feels about Izuru-at-the-Fourth… I feel like it was such a good, healing place for him, except that Izuru feels the needs to put himself on the front lines, which is why I don’t think he could stay there indefinitely. Anyway, the first half of this is tragic foreshadowing and then it just devolves into horny wlw-mlm solidarity. Which seems pretty par for the course when it comes to Izuru stories. I hope you like it!

“Oh, Izuru, we are going to miss you,” Captain Unohana sighed as she and Isane walked with Izuru back onto the Squad 4 grounds. They had just taken him out to a farewell lunch at a lovely, peaceful little restaurant Izuru had never been to before. 

“You are going to be a wonderful vice-captain,” Isane assured him. “Captain Ichimaru will be lucky to have you.”

“But remember,” Captain Unohana broke in, “you serve him, but you serve your squad as well. It takes many kinds of strength to be an assistant captain.”

“I’ve had a good role model, at least,” Izuru replied mildly, and Isane blushed.

It was true, actually. Isane often seemed nervous and indecisive, but in triage situations, she was all steel nerves and quick decisions. It’s like her brain was always stuck in emergency mode, and tended to give off sparks when it wasn’t bearing enough load. Izuru knew a lot about brains that didn’t work right all the time, and before he worked under Isane, he had worried a lot that maybe he wasn’t cut out for command. But Isane was kind and patient and gentle, and it would have been a great loss to Squad 4 if she hadn’t the confidence to take the post. That’s what Captain Unohana had told Izuru when he asked her whether or not he should take the lieutenant’s exam himself.

He was going to miss Captain Unohana a lot. The Fourth might be looked down on by other squads as mere support workers, but Captain Unohana was the strongest person Izuru had ever met, and she loved and cared for every person who worked under her. She had high expectations, but the Fourth was also a place to be yourself. If you had goals you wanted to reach, the captain was always the first one at your side to support you. 

Izuru wondered if the Third was like that. He had a bit of trouble getting a bead on Captain Ichimaru, but the man had been Captain Aizen’s lieutenant, so he must be a good person deep down. Captain Aizen always wanted the best for his subordinates, too. Izuru wished his anxiety hadn’t made it so hard to accept that. But maybe that was a role he could play at the Third. Maybe the lessons of his own insecurities could help him make it a place where anyone could succeed.

“You’re moving this afternoon?” Unohana was asking him. “Do you have help lined up?”

Izuru waved a hand. “Oh, it’s only one division over, and I don’t have much. Everything is packed.” Momo had come over to help with that, but she was busy with her own move and Izuru didn’t want to impose on her more than he already had.

“Oh, Izuru,” Isane gasped “I have appointments this afternoon, but I could see if Iemura or Ogidou are available!” 

“Mmm, it looks like that may not be necessary,” Captain Unohana said mildly as they rounded the corner toward the barracks.

Biceps. That was the first thing that popped into Izuru’s head. Lots of biceps. Tons of biceps. Pantsloads of biceps, which were attached to a possibly even greater quantity of well-toned deltoids.

“Yo!” Hisagi Shuuhei greeted him with a wave, as if Izuru had somehow managed to miss him and his magnificently tanned arms.

Next to him, Abarai Renji, no slouch in the arm department either, gave a little salute.

Both of them were wearing sunglasses. Neither of them were wearing sleeves.

“Oh my,” Isane managed.

“Indeed,” Captain Unohana agreed.

“What are you two doing here?” Izuru demanded.

“Momo said you were moving today and you were too stubborn to ask for help,” Shuuhei announced.

Abarai moved in a way that might have been a stretch, but looked a lot like he was flexing. Scratch that, he was just flexing. Izuru had to resist the urge to claw at his own face. 

“That was so thoughtful of you, Lieutenant Hisagi, Sixth Seat Abarai!” Captain Unohana declared in a way that assured that Izuru would accept their help and _like it_. “I am sure it will go very quickly with the three of you working together.”

“I am very good at picking up heavy objects, Captain Unohana, ma’am,” Abarai assured her, with a barely acceptable bow.

“And I’m very good at pointing out heavy objects for him to pick up,” Hisagi added. Both Isane and Izuru turned scarlet. 

“Goodness, Izuru, you’ll hardly have anything to do, aside from sit back and watch,” Captain Unohano observed pleasantly.

Izuru died. If his spirit were in a body, it would have departed. As it were, he just stood there, feeling his spirit particles dissipate into reishi.

“You’re _embarrassing him_ ,” Isane hissed.

“Oh, am I?” Captain Unohana asked innocently. “We should be on our way then, and let Izuru and his friends get on with it.”

It was very fortunate that Izuru had already discorporated and was unable to hear any of that.

“Good luck, gentlemen! Don’t be a stranger, Izuru!”

“No, ma’am,” Izuru’s ghost managed to say. “Thank you for everything, ma’am.” 

The captain and vice-captain of the Fourth departed. Izuru could just barely catch Unohana asking Isane why _she_ didn’t own any sleeveless shihakushou. 

“What the _fuck_ , you _assholes_?!?” Izuru snapped at them as soon as the women were out of earshot.

“I told you he’d be mad,” Renji told Shuuhei, as though Izuru weren’t actually present.

“He’ll forgive us once he tries to carry a load of boxes over to the Third and remembers about his noodle arms.”

“You could have _told me_ you were going to show up!” Izuru griped. “How long have you two been hanging around?”

“If we told you, you woulda told us not to come,” Shuuhei shrugged.

“Or worse, tried to finish your entire move before we got here,” Renji pointed out. “Do you have any boxes of breakable things? I love carrying breakable things around.”

“How did you even know I was moving today?” Izuru ignored him.

“Momo,” they chorused.

Oh. Of course.

“So you see our problem,” Shuuhei pointed out. “If we don’t help you, Momo will murder us. Real rock and a hard place situation.”

“More like a rock and a piece of wet cardboard situation,” Renji added frankly. “I am definitely more afraid of Momo than you.”

“Go to Hell, Abarai!”

Abarai flexed again. “If I go to Hell, who’s gonna move the 800 pounds of poetry books you own? Shuuhei looks good, but he’s hardly got any stamina.” Izuru glared at him stonily, to prove that he was unmoved by Abarai’s antics and also because Abarai’s delts were extremely nice to look at.

“He’s not wrong,” Shuuhei admitted.

“Also, do not flex in front of my captain.”

“She likes it.”

“She’s a lesbian, Abarai.”

“Lesbians love really ripped upper arms. It’s a known fact.”

“Who doesn’t, really?” Shuuhei put in.

“Good point!”

Izuru sighed heavily and unlocked his door. “If I can’t get rid of you dolts, let’s at least get this over with.”

“Yeah, I’m really looking forward to the part afterward where you buy us drinks,” Shuuhei added brightly.

Izuru groaned, because if he didn’t, it might be too evident how full his heart felt right now. These morons. These goons.

“Oh, we brought you something,” Abarai added, rummaging around in his kosode and coming up with a pair of sunglasses. “So you can be part of the cool guy squad.”

“Should I rip the sleeves off my kosode, also?” Izuru asked, taking them with a grin.

“No,” Abarai and Hisagi replied in unison. 


	28. Summer Casual for the Fashionable Meathead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited floral bathrobe origin story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **alopexplasma asked:** I would love to hear more about Renji and Iba's shithead disaster friendship back in their 11th days. If this is too general a request then I would like the floral bathrobe origin story!
> 
> LOLOLOL YOU ASKED FOR IT. I am continually hitting new rock bottoms with my short fiction, but here is another one: Iba POV fiction, ft. Iba’s Mom. I should have known alopex would be to blame for this one.

“The cotton is really light and airy, it is perfect for summer. And I’m supporting a woman-owned business, you see.”

Iba Tetsuzaemon tried to get comfortable in one of the new wicker chairs his mother had put in her living room. They looked like nests built by birds with head trauma. Every time he figured out how to sit in one of her weird chairs, she would replace it with some sort of new form of rear end torture. “You look like you’re in your pajamas, Ma,” he informed her.

“It’s _loungewear_ , Tetsuzaemon,” she corrected him. “As comfortable as pajamas, yet appropriate for wearing around one’s own home.” She posed again, showing off the ridiculous, peacock-feather patterned yukata she was wearing. It was very purple.

“Looks like pajamas,” Iba muttered.

“I think it’s very flattering, Mrs. I,” Abarai announced from his stool over at the breakfast bar, his cheek crammed with Chikane’s latest culinary experiment, pumpkin quinoa balls or some shit like that. A lot of guys from the Rukon would eat stuff indiscriminately, but Iba had never seen anyone do so quite as _enthusiastically_ as Abarai.

“Thank you, Renji,” Chikane replied lovingly.

Someone who didn’t know better might ask Iba why he habitually dragged his obnoxious roommate back to his ancestral home, where his mother fawned over the kid and constantly compared the two of them. The fact was, every minute Chikane spent fussing over Abarai was time that she _wasn’t_ criticizing Iba, a very favorable exchange, in Iba’s opinion.

Also, Abarai seemed to have sort of a mom-thing. Not that kind of mom-thing. Iba definitely wouldn’t have brought him home if he suspected Abarai had _that kind of_ a mom-thing. No, Renji had never had a mom, not even a surrogate mom like a lot of people from the Rukon, and he was sort of _fascinated_ with them. Abarai could be a huge dick and a shithead and he had the worst taste in clothes Iba had ever seen and he talked all the fucking time anymore, but underlying all that was a sort of _loneliness_. He seemed to genuinely enjoy hanging out with Iba’s weirdo mother, so Iba let him come along. Why the hell not?

“Tsumori is trying to branch out into men’s fashion, as well,” Chikane mentioned casually.

“That’s great, Ma,” Iba responded automatically.

“I bought you one,” Chikane went on.

“Dammit, Ma!” Iba exclaimed. There was a loud snort from over by the breakfast bar.

“You’re going to love it, Tetsuzaemon. You work too hard, and it will increase the quality of your rest time.”

“I’m not gonna wear it, Ma.”

“It’s your loss, Tetsuzaemon. I am supporting my friend’s business either way. I think you would get a lot of benefit from it, though, and you could recommend it to all the other boys at your division.”

“No,” Iba replied.

“She was also a little unsure about sizing, so she sent me home with a few options, she could really use some feedback on fit--”

“I am not trying on any fucking loungewear, Ma!”

A rolled up chapbook featuring poetry about female body parts smacked painfully into his hand.

“Ow! Ma!”

“Don’t use that Squad 11 language in my house!”

There was a wheezing from the breakfast bar.

Chikane was pulling yards of fabric out of a cardboard box. “This one is large… this one is large, extra tall…”

“Cripes, Ma, no man is gonna wear that pink monstrosity,” Iba gestured at the yukata in her hands.

“A real man brings masculinity to whatever he wears,” Chikane mused. “I know you have no appreciation of the female gaze, Tetsuzaemon, but many women would find this _very attractive_ on a man.”

“Is that the extra tall?” Abarai asked.

“Dammit, Abarai,” Iba muttered.

* * *

“See, I told you it was comfortable!” Abarai insisted as he poured Iba a cup of sake. “Gets some nice airflow, y’know.”

It was hot as fuck out and Iba was pissed, honestly, at how light and airy this stupid fucking kimono was. Abarai had acquired a bottle of decent sake somewhere and was lounging around the room in that pink monstrosity drinking it. He kept declaring himself a “man of leisure” and making increasingly less vague allusions to how well-ventilated his package was. Iba knew the asshole wasn’t going to shut up or share until he put on his own yukata, which was identical, aside from having blue flowers instead of pink ones. There was a pleasant breeze coming in through the window, and the sake was really quite nice. Also, he was absolutely right about the airflow.

Iba _hated_ it when Abarai was right.

“You should tie your yukatas looser,” Iba grunted. “You look like someone’s maiden aunt with it tightened up around your neck up like that.”

“You think?” Abarai asked, experimenting with his collar.

“You got all that ink on your pecs, you ought to show it off,” Iba shrugged.

“It’s not done yet, you don’t think it looks weird?”

“I mean, of course it looks weird. If you didn’t want to look weird, you shouldn’t have gotten your chest tattooed.”

A few scuffling noises and far off shouts wafted in on the breeze from the open window.

“Shit, what’s going on now?” Iba groaned.

Abarai got up and stuck his head out the window. “Ah, fuck, Big Maki and Really Big Maki are at it again. Looks like a big group of people are just getting back from the bar, this is gonna go south quick. You should probably do something, Mr. Fourth Seat, sir.”

“Fuck,” Iba declared, storming outside, his sake glass still in his hand. There was a crowd of smelly drunks gathering in the yard, but they scrambled out of the way as he shouldered through, letting his reiatsu roil off him menacingly. “What the hell do you chucklefucks think you’re doing?” he roared. That was usually sufficient to get everyone cowering.

Unfortunately, the Makis seemed to be loaded up tonight.

“This asshole has it comin’, Fourth Seat!” Really Big Maki howled. “He was talking shit about my old gang!”

 _Fuuuuuuuuck_. A lot of guys in Eleven came from the Rukon, and the ones who came from gangs were the _worst_. Iba hated breaking up this shit, first off, because it was dumb, and secondly, because he couldn’t keep track of everyone’s stupid mascots or whatever. Who the hell cared? They were in the Eleventh now, the only gang that mattered.

“I just _said_ ,” Big Maki bit off, “that the Vultures are a pretty tough organization… for a bunch of pansy-asses from the East.” Shit, the most tired argument of them all, whose district was best (or possibly worse), but it never failed to get certain guys riled up.

“Do not start this shit,” Iba yelled, pointing at Big Maki around his sake cup. “You wanna brawl, you can sign up for a training field, there is no brawling in the yard and there is no brawling past ten at night!”

“Oi, Fourth Seat, you gonna let him off after sayin’ that about good ol’ East Rukongai?”

“Ah, what does he know? Iba’s a fancy lad from the Seireitei.”

Iba whipped around. “Which o’ you drunkos said that? I will knock your teeth out!”

There were more grumblings from around him, and Iba realized he was in very real danger of having to put down his drink. Suddenly, there was another drop in the humidity as another wave of choking reiatsu rolled into the yard, nearly as big as his own.

“East Rukongai is a fucking _pit_ , just like North Rukongai and West Rukongai and South Rukongai,” a familiar voice bellowed. “Go to bed, you drunken fuckos or after Iba knocks your teeth out, I’ll fuckin’ feed ‘em to you.” Abarai had wandered into the yard, six feet, two inches of lean, corded muscle, draped in a light and airy pink and white yukata.

The mass of belligerent, intoxicated brutes glanced nervously at each other. Back-talking the Fourth Seat was dangerous enough, but the Fourth and the Sixth Seats together were absolutely no joke. Furthermore, Sixth Seat Abarai bore the unfortunate distinction of having the highest numbered hometown in the Squad, after only the captain and the vice-captain. Whatever Iba lacked in street cred, Abarai made up for it and then some.

“Are you guys wearing matching bathrobes?” someone suddenly broke the tense silence.

“Yes?” Abarai shrugged expansively, as though he were absolutely perplexed by the question. As though it were perfectly normal for two high-ranking bros to coordinate their evening wardrobe.

“Why are you all still here?” roared Iba. “I am gonna start swinging on a five-count, and if Abarai and I get any blood on our matching fucking bathrobes, we are going to be _pissed_.”

Drunks scattered into the night.

* * *

“Heard you two broke up a fight last night,” Yumichika hummed as they sat, hunched over the cracked Formica table in the Officer’s Lounge, doing paperwork.

“What of it?” Iba grunted.

“Can you possibly explain the matching bathrobes thing?” Yumichika smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Or is it just more Iba-Abarai performance art? I hear it was strangely intimidating.”

“They’re good bathrobes,” Abarai offered. “Iba can get you one.”

“Abarai,” Yumichika scolded. “Do you think I _lack_ for bathrobes? Have I never shown you my bathrobe collection?”

Iba pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hand.

“I find a lot of yukata to be too tight in the shoulders, but these are nice and roomy. Yukata for the man who lifts. What do you think, Iba?”

“Yeah, I ‘spose that’s a good point.”

“I have a perfect figure, unlike you walking sides of beef,” Yumichika sniffed. “I have never had that problem.”

Ikkaku sat up from the saggy couch in the corner where he had been trying to take a nap. “Did you say they have extra room in the shoulders? Babe, _we_ could have matching--”

“Hrmmm,” Yumichika made an half-irritated, half-intrigued growling noise.

Iba slipped his sunglasses back over his nose. “Well, lemme know if you’re interested. It would really support my mom’s friend’s small business.”


	29. The Fear You Have Been Avoiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During her battle with As Nodt, Rukia is confronted with her worst nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _yvkihime said:_
> 
> _saw your tags and I’M BEGGING YOU something about the rukia vs as nodt fight maybe just a drabble however you see fit_ 🥺🥺🥺
> 
> This ask was in reference to [this post](https://recurring-polynya.tumblr.com/post/628599635139788800/aizengard55-in-celebration-of-the-renruki) about the fears Rukia experienced during the As Nodt fight. I honestly don’t know why I have never seen another fic about this, but if you know of one, send it my way!! 
> 
> In any case, I don’t usually write dark stuff, but I am good at it, actually, so this one gets a **TRIGGER WARNING:** Intrusive ideation of the gruesome death of a loved one. Eight times. Probably some spoilers for the TYBWA. 
> 
> PS: If you want to know more about the time Renji broke his arm in Inuzuri, it’s a shoutback to [this](https://recurring-polynya.tumblr.com/post/189255400443/i-try-to-make-this-tumblr-a-place-for-my-truest).

Rukia is running, her filthy bare feet pounding against the hardpack. She can hear the echoes of other feet behind her, but she can’t tell how many. She skids to a halt, panting, and turns, eyes wide and panicked, ready to count one, two, three, four heads. Four plus her means that everyone is safe.

She is alone.

* * *

Rukia flinches, waiting for the lead pipe to splatter her brains across the dusty Inuzuri street. But there is no pain, only the sound of bone crunching, followed by a soft grunt.

She has been rescued. Renji, as is his way, has placed himself between herself and the consequences of her actions once again. His arm now hangs uselessly at his side, dripping blood steadily onto the ground. “Fuck _you!_ ” he screams at her attacker, who raises the pipe for a second swing.

 _This isn’t right,_ Rukia tells herself. _This isn’t how it happened._

Hot blood splashes across her face.

* * *

They stayed too late in the 77th. Renji kept eying the pale clouds gathering overhead, but Rukia thought she could score a few scraps of food as the vendors in the market were shutting down. Not only was she wrong, but the snow had started falling when they were still a mile north of the Inuzuri border.

Now they are huddled against the bole of an old, half-rotten oak, under a pile of what little brush they were able to gather before the visibility went down to nothing.

Rukia’s brain feels fogged and sleepy. She honestly can’t tell if she’s hot or cold, temperature has become some alien concern. Renji’s arm, wrapped around her, pulling her close, feels heavy, too heavy.

“Renji,” she mumbles. “Renji, don’t go to sleep.”

Her eyelashes are crusted with snow, she can barely see. She shoves her ear against his chest, and listens for his heartbeat.

There is nothing.

* * *

It is raining, but she can still hear shouts from the courtyard.

“I just want to see her, you flash bastard! I just want to know that she’s okay!”

Rukia tries to make her way to the front entrance, but the hallways of the manor are foreign and seem to reconfigure themselves as soon as she picks a direction. _It isn’t right,_ she tells herself over and over, trying to control the feelings of terror that course through her. _I sent him away. I sent him away so this wouldn’t happen._

By the time she gets oriented, Brother is returning inside, his haori dotted with rain. He is wiping down his sword with a cloth that is stained very, very red. “The disturbance is dealt with, Rukia,” he informs her. “You may return to bed.”

* * *

“I won’t let you take her,” Ichigo snarls, and plunges his sword into Renji’s heart.

The rage melts from Renji’s face, leaving only disbelief behind. His eyes meet Rukia’s briefly, before they roll upward and he falls, face-first, onto the street.

Her feet are frozen to the ground, a scream is lodged in her throat, unable to come out. She didn’t want Ichigo to die, but she doesn’t want this either.

“Unfortunately, that is not up to you,” her brother’s voice echoes in her ears, and suddenly, there is a sword tip protruding from Ichigo’s chest, and an equally surprised expression on his own face.

A strangled sound, not yet a scream, emerges from her throat.

* * *

Rukia is walking across a bridge. Her thoughts are wrapped up in her own pending execution, when she feels it like a stone plunging into a lake.

Renji is gone.

She grasps frantically for his reiatsu, for a trace, a wisp. The guards are prodding her, yelling at her. Her reiatsu sense is becoming flooded by Ichimaru Gin, walking steadily toward her, smiling his snake-like grin, but she sifts for the tiniest sandgrain, trying to find some evidence that Renji lives.

There is none. Renji is gone.

* * *

Renji’s body cants forward, he can barely hold himself up, but his grip on her does not falter. Aizen’s shadow falls over them both. Aizen is talking, talking, talking, but his words are just empty buzzing. Rukia is pushing against Renji’s arms, his chest. She’s not sure if she’s trying to get him upright again, or trying to free herself from his grasp.

 _Just once_ , she thinks. _Just once, let me put my body in front of yours, you bastard, just once._

“Please, Captain Aizen!” she begs, her voice desperate and shrill. “Please, I’ll--”

“No.” Renji’s voice gurgles in his chest. One of his lungs is punctured. “I told you to shut up… Rukia,” he murmurs, and she recalls that he often says “shut up” when he means “I love you.”

 _Not again, I can’t take any more, please not again_.

“I’m not letting go of you,” he curses her, before raising his eyes to Aizen. “I’m not leaving her,” he swears. “You bastard.”

“I see,” Aizen replies. “That’s unfortunate.”

This time, no one intercepts the blow.

* * *

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez saunters down the empty Karakura Street. “So, which is it?” he drawls. “Which one of you three is the strongest?”

Renji sidles a step in front of Rukia.

“No,” Rukia murmurs. “No, you weren’t there. You were off getting gored by Yylfordt Granz, you bonehead.”

“Not you,” Grimmjow decides, ramming his hand through Renji’s guts.

It’s not _pleasant_ to watch, but Rukia forces ice through her veins and refuses to look away. _It’s not real. Renji lets me fight my own fights_.

Renji coughs once. His body hits the ground with a wet _smack_.

* * *

The Arrancar, this pulsating mass with Shiba Kaien’s face, levels Nejibana at her, when Rukia feels Renji’s reiatsu storming through the hallways of Las Noches, his footsteps pounding like a heartbeat against her spiritual senses.

“Give it up,” Rukia growls, forcing herself to remember clasping his hand in the desert, making him promise.

_“I swear on my sword,” he’d agreed, reluctantly._

_“Say it. Say the whole thing.”_

_He rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. “I swear on Zabimaru that I won’t die for you, okay, Rukia? Of all the stupid--”_

_“It’s not! It’s not stupid! I can’t fight all-out if I have to worry about you throwing your stupid body in front of me the minute I start to lose! I’m strong, Renji, you have to have a little fucking faith in me!”_

_“I do!” he had protested. “Of course I do! I always have! That isn’t why… that’s not… I…”_

_“It’s not the time for that.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. “But I know why. You don’t have to say it.”_

_One side of his mouth quirked up in a humorless smile. “Yeah. Well. You got your way. I promised. Do me a favor in return and at least_ try _to stay alive, would you, Kuchiki?”_

The promises were real, and Renji kept his. She didn’t then, and she doesn’t now, either.

“Sorry, Renji,” she sighs and throws herself forward onto the trident.

* * *

Rukia is screaming. She is screaming and screaming and she can’t stop.

Suddenly, there is a loud crack, and As Nodt’s _Tatar Foras_ begins to shatter around them. Daylight leaks through, at last. Rukia has access to her senses once again.

She scrabbles, desperately feeling out with her reiatsu, trying to find Renji. She doesn’t know exactly when it happened that she became perpetually aware of him. Maybe sometime during the Winter War, she spent so much time groping around for him that he became lodged in her head, a half-forgotten song she couldn’t knock loose. Since the Royal Realm, though, he’s been a noisy, omnipresent companion, a rhythmic bassline steadying the tempo of her own soul.

He is halfway across the Seireitei.

He was napping, but he’s waking up now.

 _Napping_.

It wasn’t Renji that came to her rescue at all, but Brother, whom she supposes also has a right to a piece of As Nodt.

Renji is sure to get in another fight sooner rather than later, but at least if he dies, it will be because _he_ wasn’t strong enough, not because _she_ wasn’t. That’s a bit of a weird thought, Rukia realizes, as the paralyzing fear slowly recedes from her body. She doesn’t want Renji to die _at all_.

The solution is obvious. She and Byakuya will just have to finish this quickly, and then she can go protect that bonehead with her own strength. He will likely chew her out and then _she_ can tell _him_ to shut up.

“Do you still have any fears?” Byakuya asks her, trying to gauge if she has shaken the aftereffects of As Nodt’s spell. “Rukia?”

Rukia adjusts her grip on her sword. “No!” she replies.


	30. A Few Words of Brotherly Wisdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byakuya wishes Rukia luck in her marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Anonymous asked:** _Do we have a Byakuya giving Renji marriage advice fic? I'd love to read one!_
> 
> I know this is gonna seem like I can’t read the prompt, because it’s 95% Byakuya giving _Rukia_ marriage advice, but I just honestly think Byakuya trusts Renji on this, given that Renji has worked for him for years at this point and just sort of anticipates all his needs and understands him better than really anyone, and also, Byakuya does not understand Renji at all and has no idea how his dumb jock brain works. He knows exactly how Rukia’s brain works, though.
> 
> Anyway, I am back on my Byakuya-writing-letters bullshit, please enjoy some Sunday afternoon _feels_. I think it should be obvious, but this takes place the night after Rukia and Renji’s wedding.

It was late at night, but Rukia couldn’t sleep. Too much excitement, maybe, the unfamiliarity of a new house, the evening’s pleasant alcoholic haze fading into the beginnings of a hangover. It certainly couldn’t be the idea of a new life entirely, looming in front of her like an iceberg, complete with a new name and all sorts of new possibilities. Primarily, there was a new bed and a new person who slept in it with her, and she found the idea of waking him up terrifying, so she slipped out from under the blankets and crept downstairs. 

She was digging around in the kitchen, wondering if Renji had gotten around to making any pickles since he moved in a month ago (there was an entire cabinet full, wonderful man!), when she remembered the note. 

Rukia had briefly flipped through the envelopes of wedding money they had received earlier. The one from her brother bulged, and when she opened it up, the bills inside were _large_. Renji got nervous in the presence of large sums of money and she suspected he would attempt to _give it back_ , so put it away quickly to deal with later, but not before she noticed a sheet of paper tucked inside among the bills. It had only her name on it, in her brother’s finest handwriting.

After retrieving the note, she settled on the couch (which had been Renji’s but was now _theirs_ because that’s how this worked) with the jar of pickles tucked beside her (the pickles were _hers_ because they were the spicy kind Renji made specially for her even though he couldn’t eat them himself). 

_My beloved sister,_ the note opened. 

_It is my impression that one of the important roles of an older brother is to go before one’s younger siblings, to chart the unknown terrain of life, and to act as guide and mentor. My own marriage was characterized by deep love and joy in the face of hardship, and I hope that yours will contain all of its happiness and none of its heartache. Unfortunately, I regret to inform you, I have no idea how I did it._

_When our lots were first cast together, as you know, I declined to form a close relationship with you. This was a mistake on my part, born of the fear that you would remind me too much of Hisana. Later on, to my horror, I found the truth to be far worse-- although you do share some of your sister’s fine qualities, in personality, you bear a much greater resemblance to myself._

_That being the case, I imagine that by the time you find this note, you will have tied yourself up into knots over whether or not you ‘deserve this’ or if you can ever be a satisfactory partner. We are very fine Kuchiki, you and I, Rukia. We are strong of body and of will. We are dignified in all we do. We devote ourselves to our duties before all else. Our hearts are strong and love strongly, but we hold them close, as we must. Our family is our pride, which, paradoxically, makes it nearly impossible to share ourselves with those we hold closest._

_Your sister Hisana was an exceedingly stubborn person, who formed her own opinions of me, which may or may not have had any grounding in reality. She frequently told me that I was ‘kind’ and ‘thoughtful’ and ‘sweet’ and a variety of other adjectives that no other thinking person would dare to apply to me. It is very difficult to live with such a person for long before you find yourself trying to live up to their misguided delusions._

_As it happens, this is among the distressing number of personality traits my adjutant shares with my late wife. His optimism is endless, his vision is permanently rose-tinted, even when he insists upon wearing those horrendous goggles. Any yet, time and again, I have seen him bring out the best qualities in the horrible ne’er-do-wells under our mutual command. Indeed, if I have ever been a good brother to you, it is mostly due to his belief that I could be so. It is a verifiable fact that you are one of the best souls in all of Soul Society, one would think it would be unimaginable to inflate your worth beyond its actual measure, and yet, somewhere, he manages that, as well._

_How is one supposed to live up to these sorts of expectations from the person they love most of all? It is impossible. At least in my case, Hisana was quite aware that I am a pompous buffoon, whereas Abarai fully believes the sun rises and sets for your personal benefit. I am going to tell you something that may be difficult to hear: you have to simply deal with it. He is never going to stop. If you are truly as like to me as I suspect, you will rebel against this, your brain constantly trying to sabotage your happiness._

_The fact of the matter is, Rukia, these feelings of inadequacy spring from the very fact that you hold him so dearly that your own estimation of him is also blown out of proportion. Do not misinterpret me. I am very fond of Abarai, but he is a mess. A disaster. You have probably never seen his filing system, but it would give you the vapors. (I do suggest that you take responsibility over that aspect of your household management.) Again, I sympathize. He is actually not nearly so bad as your sister, whom I once watched deface a centerpiece at a very fancy benefit dinner (the end result was extremely offensive and also very humorous). In my mind, she is still the most perfect person I have ever met._

_Perhaps I am mistaken. Perhaps you are plagued with none of the insecurities that troubled the early days of my marriage, and that I was only able to come to terms with once it became evident that our time together would be finite. I desperately hope this is the case, and if so, please do me the courtesy of destroying this letter, and forgetting all of this._

_In either case, I wish you the utmost happiness with your horrible husband._

_Your affectionate brother,_

_Byakuya_

Rukia’s fingers clenched on the edges of the paper. The edges of her eyes were burning. How dare he do this to her, after all these years? How many times had they crossed paths in the gardens in the hours when they should have been sleeping? Since when did they need to _say_ things in order to show how well they understood each other? Rukia had half a mind to march over there right now and punch him in his perfect face. He was most likely sitting out next to the koi pond this very minute.

“Thinkin’ of skippin’ out on me already?” a sleepy voice asked behind her, and Rukia jumped nearly a foot in the air.

“What? No!” Rukia rubbed at her hair and frowned apologetically at Renji, who seemed more interested in yawning. "I was thinking too loud and I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Nah, my skull is too thick, I can’t even hear my own thoughts most of the time.” Renji leaned over the back of the couch, and Rukia guiltily folded her note in half. “Letter from Captain?”

“Uh, yeah,” Rukia excused. “Sorry. It was kinda personal.”

“I understand. I got one, too. It was less personal.”

A piece of paper dropped in her lap and as she was busy unfolded it, Renji grabbed her jar of pickles. 

“Hey, that’s mine!” she protested.

“You don’t gotta tell me what your brother wrote to you,” Renji yawned, tucking the pickles under his arm. “But I think you should probably listen to him. He knows what’s he’s on about.”

Rukia looked at the piece of Squad Six letterhead in her hands. In precise, businesslike handwriting, it read:

To: Abarai Renji, Assistant Captain, Sixth Division

From: Kuchiki Byakuya, Captain Sixth Division

Re: My sister/Your pending wife

Lieutenant Abarai,

Please be aware that Rukia is prone to poor decisions when she has insomnia and it is in your best interest to prevent her from consuming excessively spicy and/or vinegared goods past a respectable bedtime.

Sincerely,

Captain Kuchiki

“Rat _fink_!” Rukia exclaimed. 

“Come back to bed,” Renji implored, pressing a kiss into her hair. “I know some good ways to make your brain shut up.”

“Okay,” Rukia agreed grumpily. “I’m eating those pickles for breakfast, though.”

“I’m makin’ pancakes, but suit yourself.”

Rukia decided that maybe it _was_ best to try and get some rest. She had a big rest-of-her-life coming up the next day.


	31. Never Trust a Poet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byakuya gets overly invested in Rukia and Renji's marital spat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous said:_
> 
> _Love your writing! Renruki prompt: Married!RenRuki get into a fight and Renji's acting all gloomy when he goes to work the next day. He accidentally~ shares his woes with Byakuya._
> 
> Ahhh, I am not good at writing fights!! I think I am on the record as to saying that I think Renji and Rukia only fight over stupid shit, and I had a heck of a time figuring out something for them to fight over. Anyway, I did my best, at very least, this contains a lot of Byakuya Being Byakuya.

“I think it’s in here, sir,” Third Seat Yuki explained, leading Byakuya into the Officer’s Lounge. “On second thought, you wait out here, I’ll bring it.”

Sixth Seat Taniguchi was sprawled on the floor, groaning. Rikichi stepped over him, and looked around. Fifth Seat Kuchiki had his leg propped up on a table, a bag of ice on his knee. Seventh Seat Shirogane and Fourth Seat Kuchiki were leaning against each other on the couch, snoring in unison. Rikichi picked his way toward the couch and poked Shirogane in the arm. “Hey! Hey, Shirogane! What happened to the training reports on the first-years?”

“Eh?” Shirogane asked, sitting up. “Training reports, right.” She shoved Kuchiki to one side, and extracted a thick binder, bristling with colored tabs from the depths of the couch. It was barely in Yuki’s hand before she was slumped against Kuchiki again.

“Found it!” Rikichi announced cheerfully, waving the binder and picking his way carefully back out.

“What… happened?” Byakuya asked gingerly. “It is not usually like this, is it?”

“Oh, no, sir,” Rikichi replied. “There was sparring after morning drills.”

“Everyone must have had an excess of enthusiasm, to have worn each other out so,” Byakuya observed. He was a bit sorry to have missed it. A spirited affray sounded much more entertaining than the interminable breakfast meeting with Lord Noragashi he had been forced to endure.

“Er, not exactly,” Rikichi excused, rubbing the back of his neck. “When I said ‘sparring’, what I meant was, ‘Vice-Captain made everyone fight him.’ He was in a bit of a mood this morning.”

“I... see,” Byakuya drew out. It had been quite some time since Abarai had felt the need to pummel his way through the top ranks. Byakuya had _hoped_ it was a sign that the top officers were improving, but apparently, it had just been the recent improvement in his lieutenant’s disposition. Disappointing. “Any indication as to what precipitated this sudden bout of pugnacity?”

Rikichi paused and glanced around. “I think he might have had a tiff with the missus,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Byakuya arched an eyebrow.

* * *

Byakuya pretended to be deeply engaged by the newest edition of the _Standards for Disposition of Historically Significant Hauntings_ while taking occasionally surreptitious glances at his adjutant. He needn’t have bothered with the covertness, Abarai was clearly too tightly wrapped up in his own misery to have any sort of situational awareness.

The thunderstorm of ire that had possessed the man earlier had passed, leaving behind a drizzle of gloomy resignation. Abarai had dragged his brush half-heartedly across his paperwork for a while, but now all he could manage was to stare out the window listlessly.

Byakuya was not a _nosy_ man and clearly, this was none of his business. In fact, he ought to chide his subordinate for this childlike behavior. However, Byakuya hesitated. This could very well be pertinent to his sister’s happiness. Now that Rukia no longer resided with him, how was he to know her daily mood, her overall humor? If there had been a row, surely Abarai was the one at fault. It was practically _Byakuya’s duty_ as a brother to discern what had passed between them.

“Lieutenant,” he said sternly.

Renji seemed to come to himself suddenly, and straightened in his seat. “Yessir!”

“You seem out of sorts this morning.”

Abarai swallowed. “Sorry, sir! I don’t… I’ll do better, sir!”

Byakuya folded his hands. “Obviously, I expect only the strictest of professionalism from you, as always, Lieutenant, but you know that I care for your well-being. We are family now. If you have a problem you wish to talk through, you know that I am an excellent listener.”

Abarai’s face was overcome with what was obviously great emotion at this generosity. “Er… it’s nothing, sir. Really.” He grabbed his brush and began writing with great vigor.

Curses. That hadn’t worked at all. “Rukia is in good health, I trust? All is proceeding accordingly?” Perhaps there had been a disagreement regarding their pending offspring. Perhaps Abarai had suggested a ridiculous given name, which Rukia, in her wisdom, had sensibly rejected.

Abarai’s eyebrows furrowed. “Uh, yeah. Same as, uh, yesterday, when you asked.”

“You seemed distressed. I wondered if perhaps she had fallen ill.”

“Oh, no, nothin’ like that. She’s actually been feelin’ a little better lately.” He fiddled with his brush and looked back down at his paperwork for a moment. “Look, sir, can I ask your opinion on something?”

“Of course,” Byakuya replied, carefully keeping his face in its usual, disinterested mien, despite the fact that he was, in fact, _very interested_.

Abarai nodded slowly. “Okay, so, imagine there’s two people, see, a boy and a girl, kids-like.”

“I can imagine it.”

“And they grow up together and they fall in love, right? But it’s hard for them to tell each other that, because they’ve been friends a long time. And they drift apart, it’s not looking good for either of them, but then the boy writes the girl a poem. It’s not a very good poem, it’s about how tall he’s gotten, not a great call on his part, but the girl goes for it, and she writes this lucky bastard a poem back.”

Byakuya nodded slowly. As usual, Abarai’s storytelling was circuitous and only dubiously coherent. Byakuya was familiar with the basics of Rukia and Renji’s courtship, although he hadn’t known poetry had played such a key role. He found that rather charming, actually.

“It works out,” Abarai continued on, “and they get married. Now, this woman is basically perfect. She’s beautiful, loyal, loving, the whole package. On the other hand, the guy is a real piece of work. He clearly does not deserve her.”

“I am following,” Byakuya nodded.

“So he’s a huge jerk, he doesn’t know what he’s got, and he cheats on her.”

Wait, what? “Excuse me?” Byakuya echoed.

“It doesn’t make any sense, but that’s what you get for marrying a guy who writes you a poem, I guess. He’s such a scumbag, in fact, that he thinks _she’s_ cheating on _him,_ too, just because she never calls him on this really obvious affair, and that’s how the slimeball mind works, I ‘spose.”

Byakuya tried to perform some mental math. Abarai had only been married to his sister for _five months_. How had he possibly had time to accomplish all this? Byakuya was beginning to think this was _not_ actually an autobiographical story, in which case _why was he telling it_?

Abarai was waving his hands around enthusiastically at this point. “So he spies on her, trying to catch him in the act, and get this-- all he catches her doing is writing a poem about how she hopes he’s staying safe while gallivanting around with this other lady! I _just bet_ he felt bad!”

All of this was beginning to sound vaguely familiar. Byakuya squeezed his eyes shut, trying to place this story in its proper context.

“Now, don’t get me wrong, this guy is a sleaze. I am not defending this guy in any way. But it’s not really about him, see? It’s about the lady, and the purity of her love for him--”

Byakuya gripped his head. “Abarai, this is just the plot of _Izutsu_ , isn’t it? The noh play?”

“Oh, you’ve seen it?” Abarai asked. “We went on Wednesday, and I thought we both enjoyed it, but then yesterday, Rukia asked my opinion on it, and I gave it to her, and, uh, a big fight happened.”

“Of course I have seen it, it is one of the classical noh dramas! And Ariwara no Narihira is one of the Six Poetic Genius, he is not ‘a sleaze.’” Byakuya paused. “Rukia had strong opinions on it?”

“The strongest of opinions. She said the ghost-lady was dumb for pining over a shi-- _poet_ , and that someone should have konsoued her in the first act. And I think she just really missed the point, I mean, it’s _noh_ , it’s not like anyone’s here for a good time, how are you supposed to have any heartfelt songs about suffering in love if you ain’t got any suffering, am I right?”

Although one would never be able to tell from his facial expression, Byakuya found this entire shaggy dog story interesting on a number of levels. For one, every time _he_ had ever taken Rukia to noh and asked her opinion of it, she had replied that the costumes had been very beautiful or that the dancers had been very skilled. She had never _once_ expressed an opinion on the content. Reason number two was that _Hisana_ had very strong opinions on the content of noh dramas. In fact, Hisana used to refer to _Izutsu_ as the _‘Never Trust a Poet_ ’ play. Byakuya very distinctly remembered her opining that “the husband was bad and he should feel bad; he should be the one who has to come back and haunt the damn well.” Byakuya eventually came to realize that Hisana’s complaints were primarily a _ruse_ for the purpose of getting him riled up, and that the best way of short-circuiting them was merely to start kissing her and then to get riled up in a different way. He would give up his sword before he shared _that_ piece of information with Abarai. The third interesting piece of information, though…

“I would not have expected you to take theater criticism so personally, Lieutenant,” Byakuya observed mildly.

Renji opened his mouth and then closed it again. “It’s just a dumb play,” he muttered.

Byakuya minutely adjusted the position of a paper on his desk. “Art is a reflection of our strongest emotions and a chance to explore the boundaries of concepts like love and forgiveness. It can be quite disconcerting to find yourself on the opposite side of a philosophical divide from the one person in your life whose opinions on romantic love are _actually pertinent_ to you.”

“I just don’t understand why she’s mad at me!” Abarai lamented, throwing up his hands. “I liked the play, she’s one who said it was dumb. I don’t see how you can get mad at someone for liking a thing.”

Byakuya sighed, and reminded himself for the millionth time that Abarai had spent his formative years literally headbutting the humanoid mountain goats of the Eleventh instead of metaphorically headbutting an equally stubborn classical literature tutor. “Clearly, you find ongoing devotion in the face of obstacles to be an admirable quality, and were moved by the wife’s pining, which is, broadly speaking, the main theme of the play. However, consider the perspective of the _one who is pined after_ , presented in this piece as a flawed idol, a cause of agony and suffering so severe that it persists past the confines of mortal existence.”

“Oh,” replied Abarai. There was a long pause. _“Oh_.” His face transitioned through a number of contortions, but not further words came forth.

Byakuya picked up the _Standards for Disposition of Historically Significant Hauntings_ again, and pretended to flip through it. “Do you need to take an early lunch break today, Lieutenant?”

“Um, ah…” Abarai looked at his calendar. “I got Advanced Hakuda Skills with the upper seats at 11.”

“I don’t think they’re up for it today,” Byakuya noted dryly. “Go ahead.”

Abarai _scrammed._


	32. The Thrill of the Thrift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an effort to cheer up Rukia, Orihime takes Rukia and Renji thrifting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: I know I missed Renji's birthday but if you ever have time, I would absolutely love to see anything about Renji and Orihime's friendship. I always headcanon him as her no.1 weird bakery experiment supporter, but really anything would be great! They just seem like they would be each other's go-to supports and I would love to see your take on them!_
> 
> Anon, I have no excuse for why this took so long! RenHime BroTP is one of my very favorite things, but I managed to draw a huge blank on this and then I went through two concepts that didn’t work before I managed to hit on one that did. (Also, I did write two other Renji & Orihime stories in the Time of Many Drabbles, [one where they make a cake](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26462131) and [one where they act out Orihime’s fanfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24861718/chapters/65128588)) 
> 
> Anyway, I love the Advance Team Arc, please enjoy this Advance Team Arc story about Renji and Orihime trying to cheer Rukia up by going thrifting, ft. the all-time greatest Renji clothing item.

Orihime was headed outside for lunch, thinking longingly about her curry tuna fish sandwich, when a low, gravelly voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Oi, Inoue. You gotta moment?”

Abarai was leaning up against the wall of the school, his eyes scanning the school yard like he was waiting for a brawl to break out. Abarai reminded Orihime a lot of a guy in a prison movie. Not the guy that masterminded the prison break, but the guy who had the whole prison figured out and knew how to get illicit goods and would help the main guy escape even though they were sort of frenemies. Orihime found him a little bit scary, but in a cool way. They probably didn’t have motorcycles in Soul Society, but if they did, Orihime would bet money that Abarai would ride one.

“Sure!” she announced eagerly, and trailed in his shadow as he silently rounded the corner of the building. He moved very quietly for such a big person, unlike Ichigo and Chad, who crashed and thumped wherever they went, especially when they went somewhere together.

“I gotta problem and I’m hopin’ you’ll be able to help me out a little.” Abarai shifted his shoulders a little, obviously uncomfortable in his school uniform.

After her adventures in Soul Society, Orihime knew all about the stresses of the undercover lifestyle. Clearly, he needed someone for an inside job, someone who knew all the subtleties of living a normal human existence. Fortunately for him, Orihime had been a normal human almost her entire life. “How can I be of assistance, Lieutenant Abarai?” she barked.

Abarai blinked at her. “Er. It’s not really mission-related. I need, um, some advice, I guess.”

Orihime set her jaw and tightened her fists. “I am short on life experience, but I have read many magazines. Ask me anything.”

Abarai waved his hands. “No! _No_! Look, you’re friends with Rukia, right?”

“Yes!” Orihime agreed. That was an easy one.

Abarai nodded quickly, happy to have found some firm footing at last. “The thing is, she’s been taking Ichigo’s vanishing act kinda hard.”

Orihime gave a tiny nod, her fingernails digging into her palms. The truth was, there was a dull, Ichigo-sized ache in her own heart, as well. She couldn’t stop wondering where he was and what he was up to and if he was getting good hearty lunches. She imagined it must be a thousand times worse for Rukia who had come all the way from Soul Society to just to see him, only to have him up and disappear on her almost immediately.

“She gets real crabby when she’s worried,” Abarai went on, continuing to scan the grounds, presumably for lurking Rukias. “She’s been getting on me for not having enough spare clothes for my gigai. I wouldn’t usually let her boss me around like this, but I thought it would make her feel better so I told her we could go, ah, shopping.”

“Oh, that’s so nice!” cried Orihime.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m a prince. But here’s the thing: Even though Captain Hitsugaya outranks me, I am technically the mission manager, which means I’m in charge of the budget, and I’d really, really like to come out in the black. Matsumoto already conned me out of a significant portion of the petty cash. I don’t think Rukia has a real good handle on human money and I sure as hell don’t. I told Rukia that we should ask one of her friends to come along and she said she’d ask you, and I just was hoping you could help me keep things, y’know, _frugal_ , without making a big deal about it.”

Abarai looked a little sheepish even asking. Orihime remembered the size of Rukia’s house back in Soul Society, the beautiful kimono she had worn once she was no longer a criminal. Orihime knew all about having friends who had more money than you. Her resolve hardened and slammed her fist into her open palm. “A strict budget is no reason not to look your best!” she announced. “You have come to the right person, Lieutenant Abarai! I, Inoue Orihime, Thrifting Champion of Karakura, will help you out!”

Abarai’s face washed over with relief, followed very quickly by confusion. “The _what_ champion?” he echoed.

* * *

“You are a saint, Orihime!” Rukia declared as they marched down the street, arm in arm, Renji trailing grumpily a few paces behind, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “A gem! I offered to borrow something from Ichigo’s father for him, but this ingrate was having none of it.”

There was some low-pitched muttering from behind them.

Orihime was trying to picture Renji in the pink, ruffled tuxedo shirt Dr. Kurosaki had worn under his lab coat the last time he set Tatsuki’s sprained ankle. “I don’t think Dr. Kurosaki’s style would be quite right for him,” she suggested diplomatically. “I… guess… he’s supposed to be a teenager?”

Rukia heaved a sigh. “I suppose you’re correct, as usual.” She craned her head back over her shoulder for a moment. “You owe Orihime an ice cream for this, Lieutenant Hopeless!” She swung her head forward again with a huff. Renji shot Orihime a wink.

Orihime couldn’t quite figure out Rukia and Renji’s exact relationship. Rukia has described Renji as “her friend,” which she hadn’t said about the shinigami from Ten or Eleven. On the other, she called Renji a lot of rude names and harangued him continuously. Renji had seemed pretty concerned about Rukia when he had pulled Orihime aside that afternoon, but now he was all slouches and scrunchy eyebrows. He reminded Orihime of Ichigo.

Oh! Maybe there was something to that! Maybe Renji was being a grouch on purpose so that Rukia could yell at him and feel like she was yelling at Ichigo. Wow! That was some master-level friendship. Orihime wondered if she should be taking notes.

“Ah, here we are!” she exclaimed, pointing at a little, tucked away shop front.

“What sort of shop is this?” Rukia frowned, examining the cluttered store window.

“It’s a thrift store,” Orihime explained. “People sell old, but well-made clothes to the shop, and they resell them for much cheaper than new clothes. Sometimes you can find really neat vintage, designer things that a rich person only wore a few times and decided they didn’t want. Uryuu likes to look for really ugly things made from nice fabrics and then re-tailor them. I have to modify a lot of my clothes, too, because of-- well, you know.” She gestured vaguely at her chest.

“What a brilliant idea!” Rukia proclaimed. “That’s so practical! Renji, isn’t Orihime a genius?”

“I didn’t come up with the idea,” Orihime mumbled self-consciously.

“Maybe you should open a shop to sell off your brother’s spare kimono,” Renji suggested airily. He was definitely baiting Rukia now, Orihime could see it when she watched for it.

“I _should!”_ Rukia declared, closing her eyes haughtily. “People would probably pay double what they’re worth, just because he wore them!”

Renji just snorted.

* * *

“How about these?” Rukia asked, holding up a pair of jeans. “They look like the kind Ichigo wears.”

Orihime pulled her head out of the rack of pants she was sorting through, and Renji’s head popped up from the next aisle. “Hmm,” she said, tapping her finger on her lips. She knew what she wanted to say, but she didn’t want to make Renji feel self-conscious by talking about his body and also, she didn’t want to make it obvious how much time she’d spent looking at Kurosaki’s butt. “Those are skinny jeans. Abarai is a lot, um, more muscular? than Kurosaki-kun? He would do better with a straight leg cut, I think.” She wished Uryuu were here. She didn’t know that much about men’s clothes, but she had heard him say that once while lamenting Chad’s tragic commitment to bootleg cuts.

Apparently, Rukia had no such qualms about Renji’s positive body image. “Hear that, Thunder Thighs? This is where all those squats get you.”

If this bothered Renji, he didn’t let it show. “My thighs are _majestic_ , Rukia. Some people enjoy a guy with a little meat on his bones, for your information.”

Rukia laughed then, a sharp, amused guffaw, almost a cackle. Orihime looked up suddenly. She was sure she’d heard Rukia laugh before, but it had been a high-pitched giggle, a girlish titter. There was a gleam in the shorter woman’s eyes, and at first, Orihime thought she was being mean to Abarai, but when she glanced at him, his eyes were twinkling and he had a slight smile on his face.

Orihime got the sudden sense that she was interrupting something, although she wasn’t sure how you could interrupt someone making fun of someone else. She ducked her head and focused on rifling through the rack of pants in front of her. “How about these?” she asked, holding up a likely candidate.

“Those look pretty worn out,” Renji frowned.

“They’re _distressed_ , Renji,” Rukia explained pompously. “It’s human fashion. They come that way. It presents the illusion of leading a rough and tough, adventurous lifestyle, even for fancy boys like you.”

“Rukia,” Renji scolded her. “Members of the Sixth Company do not walk around with their _knees_ _on display_ , for anyone to see.”

Rukia snorted, and Orihime suspected they were making yet another inside joke. “How’s he gonna find out? And if he does, you can just tell him you fell down the stairs, he would definitely believe that.”

“Er, here’s another pair without any holes,” Orihime offered. “They’re black.” Uryuu also had a lot of opinions on black jeans, but she was pretty sure Renji could pull them off.

“Thank you, Inoue,” Renji said, extra-graciously, reaching over the rack to accept them.

“You better try them both on!” Rukia yelled in her bossy voice. “I demand to see the forbidden knees!”

“Whatever, you’ve seen ‘em, before,” Renji muttered, but he was still smiling.

* * *

“Hey, Inoue!”

Orihime ducked past a rack of sweatervests, to where Renji was contemplating a leather jacket.

“Do humans still wear stuff like this? I know they were pretty popular a few decades ago.”

“Oh, yes,” Orihime agreed. “It’s a timeless look.”

Renji looked mildly shocked, but happy.

“That’s a really nice one,” Orihime added. “You should try it on.”

Renji didn’t seem like he needed a lot of encouragement to slip it over his shoulders. “I had a roommate who had one of these,” he admitted. “They look pretty dumb over a shihakushou, but Iba has never once let looking like a moron slow him down.” He grinned. “I was jealous as hell of it.”

Orihime clapped her hands. “Oh, Abarai, it looks so good on you!” It wasn’t even an exaggeration. It was black, a classic motorcycle cut, and it fit him perfectly. Orihime amended her mental movie casting of Renji: in a jacket like that, he could definitely be the protagonist of an American motorcycle movie, flicking cigarettes into the gutter and leaving a broken-hearted girl pining after him after he got run out of town for Raising Too Much Hell.

“Is it expensive?” Renji asked, holding out the sleeve with the price tag. “I don’t know what a jacket is supposed to cost.”

“It’s a very practical wardrobe staple,” Orihime advised. “Especially this time of year. It’s just starting to be jacket weather, and this will carry you through until winter, unless we have an especially cold one.” She checked the tag. “Leather jackets aren’t cheap, but this is a very good value. If you can afford it, I think it’s worth it.”

“I think I can make it work,” Renji murmured, obviously doing a bit of mental math.

“Hey, Abarai,” Orihime said, leaning forward, and keeping her voice low.

“Eh?”

“Is it going the way you planned? Do you think we’re cheering Rukia up?”

Renji opened his mouth and then closed it again. “I think we at least took her mind off him for a bit. What do you think?”

Orihime contemplated. “She _seems_ like she’s having a good time. I think she liked looking at your butt when you were trying on pants.” Renji raised a skeptical eyebrow. To be fair, Abarai had a very nice butt. Orihime was pretty sure she still preferred Kurosaki’s butt, but it hadn’t exactly been a _trial_. “On the other hand, she _does_ yell at you a lot,” Orihime said quickly. “She’s very difficult to read.”

“Yeah, I know. It takes some practice,” Renji replied. “And she hasn’t actually been yelling at me. You haven’t begun to see Rukia yelling at me.” He rubbed his chin. “I think we’re doing a good job. Thanks, Inoue! I couldn’t have pulled this off on my own.”

Orihime blushed. “Oh, I haven’t really done anything!”

“I think you underest--”

Orihime never found out what Renji was going to say, because Rukia came skidding into the coat aisle. She was wearing a denim vest, a feather boa, and a cowboy hat, and clutching something in her hands. “Hey! Hey, Renji! Renji, I just fou...nd…” She trailed off as her eyes scanned Abarai up and down, lingering on the leather jacket. Her mouth dropped open a little.

Orihime’s eyes darted to Renji, who looked paralyzed by this development. His hand went to his hair self-consciously, his fingers getting caught in his bandana awkwardly.

If Orihime had felt like a third wheel up until this point, she realized that sometimes bicycles can be very hard to ride if you aren’t used to them, and third wheels are helpful when you’re in danger of tipping over and crashing. “Rukia, look at the jacket Renji found! He’s being waffley! Help me convince him to get it!”

Rukia came back to herself suddenly. “It fits you perfectly, you fool! Listen to Orihime.”

“I dunno,” Renji drawled, having pulled his act together as well. “It’s kinda expensive.” He started to grab another coat off the rack. It was tweed and had elbow patches. “Might keep looking for a bit.”

“ _No!_ ” Rukia commanded, and Renji’s hand reflexively dropped the hanger like he’d just touched something hot. Rukia cleared her throat self-consciously. “Speaking of things that are non-negotiable, _look what I found for you!!_ ” With a flourish, she unfurled the bundle in her hands, which happened to be a t-shirt.

At first, Orihime had no idea what she was looking at. Obviously, it was a t-shirt. If she had to guess, it had been printed by a garage band full of teens that played a lot of covers and had to bum rides to their gigs. There was a drippy looking skull and some words in English. It was objectively terrible. But in a charming way.

“I love it!” Renji shouted, with far too much enthusiasm. “I don’t read English very well, though, what does it say?”

“I don’t either,” Rukia admitted. “I think this says ‘red’, though.”

“It says ‘red pineapple,’” Orihime supplied. They had just finished the unit on fruits and vegetables in English class. She had gotten a 100 on the test.

Renji and Rukia both burst into gales of laughter.

“How much is it?” Renji wheezed. “I’ll pay a million kan for it.”

“They use yen here, you buffoon,” Rukia gasped. “It’s got an orange sticker, what does that mean?”

“That means it’s on special clearance,” Orihime explained, scanning the chart hung on the wall. “100 yen.”

“Ha, ha, that’s _cheap!_ It’s mine! _”_

“You were skeptical,” Rukia lectured, wagging a finger, “But I told you, didn’t I, Renji? Orihime knows what she’s doing.”

Renji wiped a tear away from his eye. “Double ice cream for Orihime,” he agreed. “What would we do without her?”

Orihime’s face felt very hot. She waved her hands frantically. “Really, I didn’t--!”

“Also, remind me what ice cream is again.”

“You dummy!”

Orihime stopped protesting. Anyone who didn’t know what ice cream was _definitely_ needed her help.


	33. Mad Scientist AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji creates a monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyoooooo! In a fit of restlessness, I decided to take requests for Wacky AUs on my Tumblr. All the slots filled up pretty quick, so if this is something that interests you, please consider following me at recurring-polynya.tumblr.com !
> 
> \---
> 
> _Anonymous asked:_  
>  Request: RenRuki; Mad Scientist!Renji shocks Frankenstein Monster!Rukia with electricity to test the endurance of Mikasa's heart
> 
> I am not quite sure who you mean by Mikasa-- I am guessing either Masaki or Hisana? I really enjoy making Renji into Byakuya’s beleaguered minion in any universe, and I was extremely charmed by the idea of the latter, so that’s what I went with. I supposed this is a little less “Mad Scientist” and a little more Ticked-Off Postdoc, but a crumbling castle on a moonswept cliff? In this economy??
> 
> CW: Some detailed discussion of building a monster out of body parts. It’s not intended to be scary or gross, but just wanted to be on the safe side.

_I should have finished my dissertation_ , Abarai Renji thought to himself, irritably rubbing at the nicotine patch under the collar of his shirt. 

Education-in-perpetuum was a rich kid’s game, though, and when he’d had to choose between a paying entry-level gig at Kuchiki Biotech or a continued monk-like existence grading freshman papers and scrubbing out the autoclave, he’d followed the money. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, _working in industry_. Eating food that didn’t come with a seasoning packet, living in an apartment that had both heating _and_ air-conditioning, the indescribable luxury of a monthly transit pass. Yeah, it stung a little when Kira and Hinamori sent selfies of themselves at that conference in Berlin, and later, in their stupid graduation get-ups, but after seven years of working his ass off, of being on time every day, of covering his ink and minding his manners, Renji had been _noticed_ by Kuchiki Byakuya himself, the reclusive CEO of the company.

“You were a student of Dr. Aizen Sousuke?” Kuchiki had asked, his cold grey eyes skipping past Renji’s carefully knotted tie and spotless lab coat to linger on his bandana and the cover-up smudges that protruded from beneath it. “The cephalopod neurophysicist?”

“That’s correct.”

“His work on artificial chromatophores was stunning.”

Right. That.

“Er, the camouflage stuff wasn’t my area of interest, but I have a couple of friends in that area if you’re--”

“You studied nervous system regeneration. But you did not graduate.” 

Renji had tried not to look surprised, because his supervisor had warned him that Byakuya liked to try and surprise people and then judge them for being surprised. Byakuya had probably just dug up his resume from HR prior to this interview. “That’s right. Well. About the nervous system thing. I did graduate, just, y’know, ABD. That’s not even true, I wrote about half a dissertation. Maybe two-thirds.” His mouth snapped shut. Kuchiki Byakuya definitely did not want to hear about his two-thirds of a dissertation.

“I read your article in the Journal of Zoological Neuroscience, the one about using a donor octopus brain to reanimate a dead specimen? I assume you wrote it. You were listed as second author, but it was not rife with Dr. Aizen’s usual bloviations. It was excellent work.”

Renji had failed in his attempts to keep from looking surprised.

“I am starting a special project that could use a man of your expertise. Dr. Shirogane spoke well of your time here, and felt that you were ready to take on the role of primary investigator.” Byakuya looked at his extremely expensive watch, as though he were already getting bored of this meeting. “It is a small project, a one-man project, and I am afraid it will not produce any sort of publishable results. In fact, I will require you to sign a number of non-disclosure agreements, should you accept. But it is a very important project to me, personally.”

Renji could still remember the excitement, the feel of his heart stuttering in his chest. He imagined telling Kira and Hinamori about the _personal project_ he was doing for the wealthiest biotech entrepreneur in Japan. He felt smart. He felt important. He felt like industry was finally paying off for him.

Two days later, he found out that this project involved _grave-robbing_. 

It turned out that Kuchiki was a widower. His wife had been a kind, beautiful angel who had died of complications from cystic fibrosis at the tender age of 34. Despite everything, her heart has been very strong at the time of her death. So Kuchiki kept it, y’know, like a normal person. And then he found one of his employees, a guy with big muscles and no family and a lot of student debt, and asked him to make a new body to put that heart in.

That was three years ago. Since then, Renji had acquired his own sub-basement laboratory and a used pick-up truck. He had a lot of middle-of-the-night meetings with Kuchiki, where he got used to delivering absolutely deranged progress reports in a calm and conversational tone. He’d taken up smoking again, but then he had to quit because Kuchiki didn’t like the smell. He stopped seeing most of his old friends, in favor of his fabulous new friends, like Isane, the nervous assistant mortician at the hospital, and Hisagi, who worked down at the funeral home and drove a hearse like it was a Shelby Cobra. His new best drinking buddy was a guy named Akon, who worked over at Kurosutchi Heavy Industries and was building some sort of cyborg daughter for _his_ creepy boss. 

And now he had _her_.

 _Maybe she’ll turn out to be better than a dissertation_ , Renji thought, contemplating the girl-thing floating in an antifreeze bath in his sub-basement lab.

She was small, in part because the original Hisana had been small, but also because regrowing the nervous system had been the hardest part, and the less he had to grow, the better. 

At first, he’d put a fair amount of effort into making her look like Hisana, but Byakuya never seemed to give a shit about stuff like that, so Renji started to take a few liberties here and there. An athlete’s limbs (well, more like three different athlete’s limbs) gave her a lean and powerful build, instead of the wispy slenderness of her predecessor. He’d been very picky about the eyes, but his patience had paid off when he scored a stunning pair from Ishida, a bitter med student who had a part time job in the university’s dissection sample acquisition department. They were deep blue, nearly verging on purple, like a starless sky. Renji wasn’t very good at suturing at first, and the big, clunky stitches that held her mismatched parts together were a little jarring. Renji had come to rather like them, though. She wasn’t a perfect, flawless angel. She was a pile of lost potential, cobbled together and given a second chance, and he liked that she wore that openly on her skin. If she didn’t like it, well, he could always offer to take her down to his tattoo place.

The only thing Byakuya had objected to was the brain.

It was a criminal’s brain, or at least that’s what Byakuya said. The brain had belonged to a teen girl who’d been caught shoplifting, and in her attempt to make a break for it, darted into traffic. It was extremely fresh, though. The girl died in the hospital and Isane called him right away. By the time Byakuya even found out about it, Renji already had the brain nestled in among the little baby human-octopus hybrid nervous system he’d been growing, so there was nothing to be done. Renji had assured Byakuya it would be fine, she wasn’t going to remember anything about her old life anyway. He did _not_ mention that he’d done a fair bit of petty theft in his youth, and he’d turned out… well. Never mind.

He’d turned out to be an insane person, actually. A person who flaunted the rules of ethics and nature. He was an actual, real-life, mad scientist (ABD). Well, assuming all this _worked._

In the morning, Byakuya was expecting a demonstration. _The_ demonstration. The part where Renji pulled a lever and sent enough voltage surging through that precious little Kuchiki heart to bring Byakuya’s new sister to life. 

He’d run and re-run all the individual organ tests. Reviewed his check list three times. Read and re-read all his notes. It was either going to work, or it wasn’t. If it worked, he was a genius, a mastermind. Kuchiki would give him a pat on the back and a big bonus and he was also going to start addressing Renji as _Doctor_ Abarai, dissertation be damned.

If it failed, Renji was going to be lugging his belongings to the curb in a cardboard box.

It was now 2:16am.

If he went home, he’d just stare at the ceiling for four hours, but at least he would be able to shower before he had to face his moment of doom.

 _You could just do it_ , he realized. _Pull the lever_. _Pull it right now._

Byakuya would be pissed, of course, he wanted to be there for the Big Shock, but if it worked, he’d be so happy to have a living, breathing, undead sister that he’d probably overlook Renji jumping the gun. If it _didn’t_ work, Renji would have those four hours to troubleshoot.

The more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded. He honestly wasn’t real sure what kind of mental capabilities, if any, his monster girl was going to have. If she woke up spitting and clawing, he was okay with that, but Byakuya might not take it so well. Yeah, it definitely made good sense to give her a boot up now, so there were no surprises in the morning.

Renji stood up, and strode over to the portable generator he’d rigged up over the weekend. His hand hovered over the switch. He was gonna do it. 

No.

In a minute.

He walked back over to the cold tank and plopped down in the chair sitting next to it, where he often sat when he had Serious Thinking to do. She floated serenely an inch under the liquid, her pale skin tinted blue, her hair floating in a cloud around her face. The cold was necessary to keep her organs in stasis, and it’s not like she could feel it, but he felt a little bad about it anyway. 

“Hey, there,” he said softly. “It’s me. Renji. We’ve been through a lot, you and me. I’m gonna turn you on, in a minute. I’m not sure how it’s gonna go. I’ve been kind of a screw-up my whole life, but you seem pretty perfect, so may we’ll even each other out.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “Another guy is gonna come by in the morning. He’s rich and powerful and has, like 17 cars. He’s gonna be your brother, and if you can be a convincing enough person, he’s gonna treat you like his sister and you’ll be set for life. But I want you to know that even if you’re a failure, even if you try to eat my face or something, that I always liked you. Hopefully, I’ll still get to see you a lot. But if not… I just wanted to let you know that I’m only giving you up ‘cause I gotta, not ‘cause I want to.” He breathed out through his nose. “Kuchiki’s probably gonna give you some flowery princess name. He’s never told me. But a while ago, I started thinking of you as ‘Rukia.’ I don’t really know where it came from. I think it means ‘light.’ So if you don’t like whatever name he gives you, you always got that one to fall back on.” He slapped his knees and stood up. “Enough of this! It’s time for you to get up.”

Once again, Renji stood, gripping the on switch in one sweaty hand. “Here goes nothing,” he declared, and flipped it.

First, there was a hum, which gradually raised in pitch until his ears rang. The needle on the voltage gauge climbed steadily. A few wisps of Renji’s hair began to stand on end. Rukia’s body bucked.

And then, with a loud crack, all the lights went out. _Fuck._

Of all the things he had double and triple checked, the power supply to the generator had _not_ been one of them. Renji groaned, and scrolled through his phone, trying to find the damn flashlight app. He only had 6% battery, which meant it was going to last about sixteen seconds. Fortunately, his lab was on an isolated circuit, so hopefully, he hadn’t knocked out power anywhere else in the building.

He had his phone pointed the wrong way when he turned the app on, and it immediately blinded him. “Ah, shit!” he exclaimed.

As he was blinking the stars out of his eyes, he heard a splash and he realized that he might have actually managed to bring Rukia to life before the generator died. He dashed over to the bath frantically. If she tried to get her own oxygen mask off, she might drown. Renji scanned liquid with his flashlight, but it was murky with bubbles. He couldn’t see anything. Had she sunk down to the bottom? He was practically leaning over the tank when he felt a hand on his arm that was so frigid that it burned, even through his lab coat and the shirt beneath it.

Slowly, Renji panned his already-dimming flashlight around, keeping it pointed at the floor, in part, so he didn’t blind her as he had himself, and in part because… well, because…

“Hi,” he said, as a pale face swam into view. 

“Hi,” she repeated in the exact same inflection.

She could _talk_. She had speech, or at least repetition abilities. Renji wanted desperately to take notes, but he was frozen. “How do you feel?” he asked.

Those big, dark blue eyes blinked at him. “Cold,” Rukia replied.


	34. IT Helpdesk/Scone Shortage AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shunsui has a morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _meri47 asked:_  
>  for the drabble request event: Shunsui/Nanao, "there’s an overnight IT person at school who always answers the phone when i call about a problem with my computer and i totally have a crush on their voice and their exasperation and ALSO the bakery down the street is always running out of my fave scones and the adorable person behind the counter can’t hide their amusement and i think it’s super rude but also super cute AU" (from a prompt list)
> 
> So, normally, I am not a fan of Nanao/Shunsui, but I forgot to put it on my list of no-go ships, and as... convoluted as this scenario is, I actually had kind of a way to make it work. I checked with the asker first, and they said it was okay to put Juushirou in it, too. I feel like the point of the prompt list this was from was to have two possible ships in any case, otherwise I don’t understand at all how it would work. Anyway, I tried to make it shippy-but-only-if-you-squint on both sides, I hope it’s okay. I really just wanted to write about IT and scone flavors anyway.
> 
> Oh, also, I have no respect for Shunsui, so sorry for that, but at least I had fun.

Professor Kyouraku Shunsui of the Seireitei University Mathematics Department was very pleased with himself. He had timed his arrival at his favorite campus coffee shop for ten minutes before the end of a class period, exactly at the time when the students would be departing for their 10 o’clocks, but the 9 o’clocks had not yet finished. He had been able to score his favorite table, the one next to the front window, so he could watch the foot traffic. He’d laid out his workspace perfectly: laptop front and center; a fresh, fragrant Americano just off to the right, and his little notebook of handwritten instructions to his left. With everything laid out so nicely, he was sure to be very productive. He just needed to remake a few plots for that journal paper. It was only a week overdue at this point, but those editors got so _antsy_ when you just went a smidge over a deadline.

Humming to himself, he ran his finger down the list of procedures as he completed each one. “Amazing!” he exclaimed when a black window popped up on his screen, his own username displayed and a little white cursor cheerfully blinking beside it. “Look at me, a computer genius! I should call my good friend Nanao. I’m sure she would love to hear how well I was able to follow her instructions.” 

Shunshui wiggled his fingers, gleefully typed “matlab &” after the prompt, and hit “enter” with a flourish.

Nothing happened.

Shunsui tried again. 

Once again, nothing happened.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he frowned, and picked up his phone.

He selected the main campus IT helpline from his contacts, then entered the extension for the math department _special_ helpline, and then he typed in the _super-secret_ extension for the math department special helpline manager.

It rang 9 times. Finally, a clipped voice answered. “Math Department IT Helpline, may I have your name, please?”

“Hellooooooo, Nanaoooooo! It’s meeeeeeee!”

“Your name, please.”

“I’m so hurt, Nanao. It’s your good friend, Shunsui, of course!”

There was a loud clacking of keys from the other end of the line. “And how may I assist you today, Professor Kyouraku?”

“Would you believe it, Nanao, but Matlab won’t open again?”

There was a long silence on the other end, and finally, a dragged out sigh. “What step are you on?”

“I made it all the way to the end of the steps. I even typed in the little ampersand, but nothing! I am all ready to make these figures, and Matlab just doesn’t want to get out of bed, you know?”

“So, you successfully used PuTTY to open a Bash terminal?”

“That’s right, I am very skilled at computers, you know.”

“If you say so. Close it.”

“Close it? But I just got it open!”

“Close it.”

Shunsui sighed. “Goodbye, little friend,” he lamented, hitting the ‘x’. “It is gone.”

“Okay, open PuTTY again. Are you using the saved session I helped you set up last time?”

“Doot doot doot,” Shunsui sang as he double clicked on the PuTTY icon. “There it is! Yes, I am using my saved session, the Shunsui-at-Work one.”

“Great. Select that session and hit ‘load.’”

“I did it.”

“Perfect. Now, over on the menus on the left, expand ‘SSH’ and pick ‘X11’.”

“Ahh, Nanao, what a brilliant person you are to remember all these things!”

“I do this all day, Professor Kyouraku.”

“And you’re so polite, too! You know you can call me Shunsui, though. Yes, here I am, at ‘X11’.”

“There’s a little box that says ‘Enable X11 forwarding, you need to check that.”

“It’s already checked.”

There was a pause. “It is?”

“Yes, there’s a little ‘X’ in it.”

“Oh.”

“We set that up before, I think.”

“I never know with you. Okay, let’s brainstorm. You aren’t part of the cloud computing pilot, are you?”

“I am, actually!”

There was a low muttering, followed by Nanao clearing her throat. “You aren’t trying to launch Matlab from the sentinel node, are you? You use PuTTY to connect to the sentinel, but then you have to manually SSH to your cloud server from there, do you remember?”

“Oh, Nanao, I don’t know what any of those words mean. I am not actually trying to get on the cloud right now, I am just trying to use the department server, does that help?

“Oh, thank God,” Nanao’s beautiful voice muttered. 

“I didn’t even know I could use the cloud servers if I wasn’t in my office,” Shunsui mused.

“You can, you just have a different IP you need to-- wait, you’re not in your office?”

“I am in the little coffee shop on the north end of campus. They have the most delightfully lemon ricotta scones--”

“I have been there, the scones are great. Are you connected to the VPN?”

“We should meet here sometime! I love to come here, it’s so relaxing and both the tea and coffee are always so fresh. Do you like matcha?”

“I hate matcha. Are you connected to the VPN?”

“I hate matcha, too! How funny! I just heard from one of my colleagues that they do a really good matcha latte here and I thought--”

“The VPN, man, are you connected to it?”

“Ahhhh.... no. Do I need to be? I thought that was only when I was at home. I’m still on campus.”

“You’re still on campus, but if you’re not in your office, you’re not on the department LAN and you need to connect through the VPN.”

“Ohhhhhhh.”

“Do you know how to connect to the VPN?”

“Ah, I should, I do this when I am working from home. Let’s see, it’s over here on the bottom right…”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Right click… select Cisco…” Shunsui picked up his coffee. “I think my coffee is just about the perfect temperature right now.” He took a sip. It was delicious. “I probably should have had my coffee before I called you, eh?”

There was a muffled thud on the other end of the line. 

“Nanao, did you fall? Are you all right? I can come over and help you if you need.”

“It’s fine. Someone, uh, dropped something.”

“The VPN is connected.”

“Fantastic. Just… just go through the steps you did before to get to the Bash terminal. Can you do that? I will just sit here and drink my own coffee.”

“You have your own coffee? Oh, that’s delightful! We’re coffee friends!”

“Just try to start Matlab again, _please_.”

“Everything just takes so long to connect, you know, once you’re on the VPN. This coffee shop should have better wifi, in my opinion.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Any plans for the weekend?”

“Probably helping you open Matlab again.”

“Ha, ha, oh, Nanao, you’re such a kidder! You know I don’t work on the weekend. I bet you have many exciting hobbies, like going to the theater… or writing poetry…”

There was a long pause. “I’m actually really into historic costume recreation, and a friend and I are going to a millinery workshop.”

“Ah, I knew you were artistic as well as brilliant,” Shunsui sighed, carefully typing in his password once again. “Here we go, Nanao, do you have your fingers crossed for me?”

“I have all my fingers crossed for you.”

“I am typing in ‘matlab ampersand’ again, that should do it, right?”

“Look, the ampersand has nothing to do with the graphical display, it just runs the program as a background process so you can still type things into your terminal.”

“Amazing how you can remember so much! I am hitting ‘enter’ and-- and--”

“ _What’s happening?!_ ”

“Ah, that beautiful orange saddle surface is here to greet me, once again,” Shunsui sighed as the Matlab logo filled the screen. “You have saved me once again, Nanao. You must allow me to buy you dinner sometime, or at least a coffee.”

“You can tell your department head how much you use the helpdesk, and that I deserve a raise and three more work-study students.”

“I will certainly do that. Have a tremendous day, Nanao!”

“You, too, Professor Kyouraku.”

Shunsui stretched and interlaced his fingers behind his head. All that hard work was exhausting. He’d been so ready to get started, and now his rhythm was off. There was no way he could jump directly into those plots. He stood up and meandered over to the counter. 

The cute barista was on duty today. His pale hair was tied up in a casual bun, and the sleeves of his sweater pushed up over his forearms. “Good morning, Professor,” he said with a sunny grin. “Working hard or hardly working?”

“Oh, causing trouble for our IT department, once again,” Shunsui sighed.

“The one you have a crush on? Did you ask for her number?”

“I have her number, I call it every day when I cannot figure out how to use my computer. She has no interest in an old fellow like myself. She is far too good for me, Juushirou! But speaking of things that are too good for me, please tell me that you have one of my favorite scones for me today?”

“Hmm, we just had a big rush at breakfast time,” Juushirou frowned. “I’ll have to go check. Oh, we have a new flavor today!” He leaned forward over the counter and waggled his eyebrows. “Strawberry basil?”

“I am sure they are a delight, but I have had a very harrowing morning, and I need the comfort of the familiar.”

“I understand!” Juushirou shook a finger sternly. “Shunsui’s favorite flavor… Shunsui’s favorite flavor… it’s not orange ginger, he finds those too zingy.... maple bacon, too trendy… the less we say about the matcha scones the better… oh dear, oh dear, it appears the lemon ricotta basket is empty.”

Shunsui flung his arm over his eyes. “I knew I should have ordered one with my coffee! I have been trying to cut calories, but today has been so trying…”

“I’ve got Morning Glory muffins? Or egg white breakfast cups?”

Shunsui made a face. “Thank you, but I think I would rather just go without.”

Juushirou gave off his hearty laugh. “I’ve never seen anyone make such a sad face over scones.” He furrowed his brows. “Those lemon ricotta scones are very popular, you know. We run out of them almost every day.”

“I am a man of discerning taste, Juushirou, who is frequently disappointed.”

“You know what you need?” Juushirou suggested perkily. “A _savory_ scone. Completely different flavor profile. It’ll take your mind right off the lemon. We have cheddar chive? Pancetta sage?”

“Juushirou,” said Shunsui. “I will take a white chocolate blackberry scone.”

“Wonderful choice!” Juushirou agreed, and then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Those are _my_ favorites.”

“I know,” Shunsui replied.


End file.
